From the Ashes
by thegirlwhocan
Summary: Post-diamond of the day fic. After a the King dies, Merlin stays at Avalon to wait for his return. When Arthur rises, a new problem comes with him - The Second Great Prophecy. Danger follows swiftly, leaving little time to figure out how to save Albion. But will Merlin be able to defeat the prophecy this time? Ending cut short with my sincerest apologies.
1. I walk a lonely road

'I walk a lonely road'

Merlin was walking down a road so familiar he knew every bump and crack in the worn pavement when he saw the sign he had waited so long for; the spark of hope. Despite his weary spirit and aching limbs from hundreds of years walking the past the same spot, ever the silent protector of Avalon, his heart was lifted momentarily. For the first time in many years, Merlin felt his lips curve into his old smile, the one that had not been seen since he lost his youth. For the promised time had come. _He is returning._

* * *

A thousand years before. . .

Merlin sat on the shore, watching the water grow darker, changing hues to deep purple in the evening light from the spectacular blue it had been hours before. The boat carrying his King- his friend- to his sleep had long disappeared into the mist shrouding the island, but still Merlin's gaze was transfixed on the lake, unable to look away. Because looking away was accepting Arthur's death, and acceptance was letting go: something Merlin felt he would ever be able to do. His tears had dried on his pale face, cooled by the wind biting now at his flesh, covering it in tiny Goosebumps. He did not feel the cold as it clawed at his skin, in fact he felt detached from it all, as if he weren't really there at all. Arms clutched around himself, with no one else to hold him, Merlin watched the sun set with a heavy heart.

After he had passed hours before, Merlin had wanted to never let Arthur go. To hold him for a thousand years and keep him safe in the only place he trusted- his arms. And Merlin did for a while, arms wrapped around Arthur's chest, blood dripping onto his clothes as well as darkening Arthur's already red cape. Merlin was a filthy, tired, tear streaked mess as he rocked back and forth on the ground, refusing to let go. Not ever. He knew Arthur was dead, that no heart fluttered underneath his fingertips as the stroked his chest; he would never again hear Arthur laugh at his mistakes or joke with his loyal knights or give a speech to motivate an entire kingdom into action. Merlin knew he would never again feel a playful hit from Arthur touch his skin, or clasp arms with his friend in promise. Merlin knew that things will never be the same again, not without him. But still he couldn't let go. It had taken hours, until the sun had risen high in the east, erasing the dullness of the darkest night Merlin has ever known, until he was ready. Taking a shaky breath, Merlin had set out to work, straightening Arthur's chainmail and cleaning him as best he could, all for the last time. Work he had resented for years in Camelot, now done carefully, with love. Arthur looked grand when he was done. Like the King he was, dressed in his armour and red cape, clean as it could be, like a fairytale. Merlin was proud, Arthur would get the farewell such a great King as he deserved – it was the least he could do. Letting him go was the hardest thing Merlin had ever done. But, underneath a day so bright it was golden to pay its respect, Merlin tearfully muttered the spell, and Arthur sailed away from him, taking a piece of Merlin with him as he did. They were bonded eternally. It was destined to be.

_I almost had it all_. If he'd been quicker, gotten Arthur here faster to have him healed, Merlin would now be in Camelot, next to a warm fire eating his favourite meal with Gaius. Arthur would finally know the truth, and Merlin would no longer have to live in fear of discovery. He could have brought magic back to Camelot, created a peaceful kingdom at Arthur's side. He could have been happy. But he had failed. He was too late so now his friend, his friend was-

Merlin could not even finish the thought without fresh tears springing to his eyes. He brushed them away with the back of his hand, his face creased into an expression of grief, distraught, Merlin pounded the ground next to him in frustration, a scream erupting from his chest. Jumping to his feet, Merlin paced in front of the lake, face scrunched up in effort to control the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He screamed again; although his throat was raw, it felt good. Hands now wound in his dark hair, holding his head, Merlin returned his eyes back towards the lake, for now his thoughts had changed. Anger flared inside him, replacing the hollowness with a fire. "WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?!" He shouted into the air, voice cracked with emotion. "WHY COULDN'T YOU HOLD _ON_," this time, his voice gave out on the last word, changing it into a despairing screech, and then it became a sob, barely a hoarse whisper "for me."

* * *

Sir Percival wandered through the shadowed woods, with only a torch to protect him against the rising darkness, its flame flickering defiantly against it. He had followed tracks through the land all day, ones he believed to have been left by Arthur and Merlin, but had not yet reached them. Percival had lost the tracks a while back, but knew where they were headed so strived onwards. Having picked up the trail nearer to the island, he carried on, but warily. The King should have been headed back to Camelot by now, but he found no trace of a returning trail. Percival was so tired. He had lost so much today, and could not bear to reach the end of this journey to find another heartbreak. Yet he still carried on, like he always would.

It was as he crested a hill overlooking the island that he found Morgana's body. The wicked sorceress lay fallen in the dirt, blood dried on her stomach and eyes unseeing. He felt a surge of emotion, pressing his lips into a thin line to control himself. He had come so far, not only in hopes to find his King, but to avenge his friend. It would seem that somebody had completed this task for him. _I hope you are at peace, Gwaine. _He thought of his friend for a moment, of his grinning face and troublesome attitude, almost cracking a smile at the memory of Gwaine's many food related incidents. He steeled himself, forcing his head up, aimed at the Island on the horizon. Still, as he passed the witch's body he could not uphold his Knight's valour, disrespectfully but purposely spitting on her corpse as he passed: a final insult. Percival left that place behind him, not once looking back.

It was as he passed the tree line, many miles later that he finally saw the waters of Avalon. At first Percival saw only the island in the semi-darkness, but as his flame lit up more of the path ahead, he could make out a huddled shape on the ground in the distance. Picking up the pace, he hurried towards the figure, speeding to a jog until he finally saw who it was. _Merlin._ The boy lay crumpled on the ground, knees buried in the dirt and head hunched over with hands covering his face. Merlin's scruffy hair was being whipped about by a fierce wind, and even his red scarf fluttered feebly. It was when Percival saw his young friends face that he lost all hope. Never had he seen such anguish on a person's face. Merlin was fixated on the island, seemingly staring it down, not even looking up as Percival approached him and kneeled at his side. "Merlin," he began, placing a hand on the servants shaking shoulder. The boy blinked a few times before looking up at him in shock, but everything Percival needed to known could be seen in Merlin's shattered blue eyes. Percival's face fell as he stood, eyes streaming as he looked out to the lake. He put a hand up to stop his tears, and after a few minutes regained his composure. _The King is dead. _Merlin had not moved from his spot throughout this, still looking dazed and a little lost. Percival turned back to him, knowing that no matter how crushed he was by the news, it was nothing compared to how Merlin was feeling. The boy was Arthur's best friend; however much the King would deny it. "Merlin," he started again, "look at me. What happened?"

"I failed," came the bitter response, but Merlin still looked out towards the lake, "He's gone."

"No you didn't." Percival grimaced at hearing Gwaine's last words repeated, "I know you did everything you could have"

"I wasn't fast enough to save him!" Merlin broke his concentration to say this loudly, but not angrily, passionately. "I was supposed to protect him, but I didn't get here in time." This was why Merlin was the light to Morgana's darkness; where she found anger at her losses, using it to take revenge, Merlin found sorrow, using his heart to protect the victims, and to make sure it never happened again. Percival clenched is face, looking up from his crouched position to Merlin, his friend, who'd stood once more to face the nearing fog gathering around the island. He didn't know what to do, and felt there was nothing he could do that would ease Merlin's pain. So he sat on the grass and waited, giving Merlin time, whilst always being there for him. For a while Merlin stood, one hand buried in his hair, taking deep breaths until the wave of emotion passed. It must have been a long time, for as he rejoined Percival, dawn was just beginning to gradually erase the nights hold on the land. "I tried. I was supposed to get him here, to heal him, but we- I- was too late. I couldn't save him." Merlin paused before adding bitterly, "all my powers and I still couldn't save him, some destiny." It was almost as if Merlin had forgotten Percival sat beside him, for he jumped when the knight asked "What do you mean? What destiny?" Merlin shook his head sadly. "Nothing"

Percival was still curious, but let the matter drop for now. He'd been considering when to break the news of Gwaine's death, deciding that it was better just to do it now, but gently. "Gwaine and I went after Morgana once you were headed here. We tricked her into believing you were headed the opposite direction and we met her there. We just wanted to rid this world of her evil. Merlin, I'm so sorry, but Gwaine died. But he wasn't alone, I was with him." Merlin closed his eyes at the revelation, sorrow flashing across his face as his thoughts turned to his other friend. Gwaine. Sir Gwaine: always laughing, always fighting- gone forever. "I'm so sorry" He said to Percival, knowing the Knight would be broken. They had been close, Gwaine and Percival. So many of their friends had passed recently, but Merlin knew that any knight remaining would be loyal, and they would not be forgotten. Percival shook his head upon seeing the concern on Merlin's face. For all his own pain, the boy still put others before himself. "They didn't die alone. And they died with honour, Merlin. It's how they both would have wanted it" Percival said, more passionately than he intended. "I know." Merlin smiled sadly, remembering how Arthur had preached the Knights code sacredly, and would have been content with dying for the kingdom he loved so dearly. "I know."

* * *

As light stretched out upon a clear, new sky, Percival stood, offering a hand to Merlin and helping him up. They had sat in a comfortable silence, each dealing with grief in their own way, but glad of the others company. Neither should have been alone that night. "It's a new dawn" Merlin said softly, eyes on the sun above them, not quite at its midday heat, but high enough to warm their backs. Percival mimicked him, searching for the sun's rays against a backdrop of blue space. It was a beautiful day: too beautiful for the horrors of the previous one, and Merlin found himself wishing for a greyer one to match his mood. _No, _He thought, _this is a new dawn for Camelot. Arthur may be gone, but Gwen will rule well in his place, she will be a kind queen. Today is the day magic will be brought back. _But Merlin knew that he himself would not be returning to Camelot, so needed to carry back a message of magic and hope; he needed Percival.

So standing on the shore, Merlin began a tale so great that over time, it became woven with the myths of the land: one of a young prince, a warlock who served him, and the destiny they shared together. Merlin spoke because he knew that he would not be able to carry this message himself, and the only way to bring magic back now was to show that it can be a force for good. He knew no one better than Percival to complete this task. As Merlin spoke, Percival's face changed frequently, from confusion at the turn of conversation, then to a profound shock as he realized what was going on. But he did not interrupt once, just listened, and he understood. He understood how this one simple young boy had saved them all so a many times and how much Percival owed him. When Merlin finished, he looked at the knight apprehensively, as if he thought Percival might drag him back to Camelot and execute him, even now. He was surprised when the knight took a step forward and embraced him, pulling him into his huge arms, dwarfing Merlin by comparison, and hugged his friend. Percival stepped back. "You had magic all this time?" He asked. Merlin nodded solemnly, if hurriedly. "And you've saved my life so many times?" Merlin looked sheepish, only replying "You've saved me too."

"But that's nothing, compared to what you've done for the kingdom." Percival was astounded, Merlin, all this time, was protecting them, for nothing in return. For once, Percival looked admiringly at the skinny serving boy, before dropping into a low, respecting bow. "Thank you, Merlin. We all owe you a great debt." He stood to find Merlin watching him, a strange look on his face. Merlin still wasn't used to people respecting him for his powers, with so few people knowing, he didn't know how to react. Percival could see something, something _more _in those eyes now. A spark he had not noticed before, a fire, but the eyes were weary with the weight of all Merlin held. Percival couldn't believe he'd missed it for all these years. "Tell Gwen I'm sorry, and Gaius. . . thank you," The young Warlock began, "and then tell them the story. Magic is not evil, there is only evil in the hearts of some. It can be used for good, Percival, tell them that. Return magic to Camelot for me, please?" Merlin spoke earnestly, imploring his friend to understand. Percival nodded, "You're not coming back, are you?" Merlin shook his head.

"My place is by Arthur's side. Camelot is not my home anymore. I must wait here."

"For our King will rise again." Percival remembered this part of the story from earlier. Merlin looked at him, and they instinctively clasped elbows, as the knights did when they made their vows, in front of the mystical lakes reflection on this new dawn. "I will see magic back in Camelot" Percival promised.

"And I will guard our King, and friend, until he rises once more."

"Good man, Merlin."

The men nodded at each other, Percival finally knowing the truth of Merlin, and they were the same. They were not a knight and a lowly serving boy, but two men who held the heart of Camelot in their spirits. They parted as equals, and friends.

* * *

So that's how Merlin lived. His home became the woods and his job simply waiting. He had no idea how long the wait would be, but he believed it would happen, and he would be there when his friend came back. He vowed to be there, promised it. _I will be where I always am, by your side, protecting you; I always will be. _Eventually, he used his magic to create a small wooden hut in the trees, it was simple, plain, but Merlin was happy with his work. He used his magic openly now he no longer had to fear. Every night he created a fire by the shore in case Arthur walked out of the lake while he slept, because Merlin wanted him to always have a light to guide him home. And that's how it went for decades; he lived as best he could, alone. Waiting.

Merlin saw his friends from Camelot only one more time after that, a year later. He was sitting on a rocky ledge, legs dangled over the side carelessly, when a noise to his left startled him. Standing quickly, he could see the small party arriving clearly from his vantage point above. The Queen led the way, flanked by two knights either side, and the lone figure of Gaius behind them. They were all dressed in Camelot red, the Knights armour glinting in the sunlight as their capes flowed behind them, with dragons blazing on the surface of their clothes. He watched them dismount, wandering to the water's edge. Percival was talking quietly to Gwen, pointing out spots on the land, then out to the water, as if explaining something. Merlin guessed what was happening immediately – they were visiting the Kings final resting place. They had every right to, he told himself sternly, Gwen was Arthur's wife, but still he did not want them to see him. Even now he could not face them, not knowing he'd let them all down. The group was close to him now, and would surely see him if they looked over. Queen Guinevere stood with the water lapping over her feet, but her face remained passive. She had never seen her husband here to link this place to him, to picture him here. She had never got the chance to say goodbye to her beloved Arthur, and it seemed she could not even do so now. Her forehead creased into a frown, grief as fresh as when Percival had delivered the news flashing across her features. Sir Leon stepped close to her, putting a reassuring arm on her elbow, and Gwen was glad of her childhood friend's presence. He had been so good to her over the past year; she would not have coped without him. Passing him a small smile while covering his hand with her own, she felt the first tears begin to form in her eyes.

Gaius stood away from the group, looking not at the lake where the fallen king lay, but around him, into the woods, searching for the face he knew better than his own. _Merlin_. Where was he? For days after the King's death, Gaius had sat in his chambers waiting for Merlin to return. It was only when Percival had come with the news of Arthur's death that Gaius was told the boy was not coming home. By then, the two bowls of his favourite meal were stone cold on the table.

So where was Merlin now? Gaius had waited a year, a lonely one, to give Merlin time to grieve away from Camelot. But surely he'd come back with them now? Gaius didn't think he would last another winter alone. It was all too empty without Merlin; he found himself waiting for the young warlock to make a remark at mealtimes, or looking for him out of the castle windows, or found himself rushing to the door every time footsteps approached hoping Merlin had come home. But he never did.

It was that red scarf that gave him away. As Merlin turned to leave quietly, the vibrant colour caught Gaius' eye. "Merlin" he called out weakly, taking a few steps towards the colour. As he stepped forwards, Merlin stepped away, shaking his head with wide eyes. Gaius started forwards again, not understanding why Merlin was backing away, but again Merlin moved back, further into the tree's shadow. Gaius stopped, as did the boy so close to him he might as well be his son. "Merlin" Gaius whispered huskily. They held each other's gaze, Merlin pleading with his eyes for Gaius to know that he loved him, but he just couldn't come closer. Likewise Gaius' eyes emitted confusion, alongside hurt that Merlin did not want to see him. In his idiosyncratic way, Merlin tilted his head to the side, a movement so familiar, so much like the old Merlin, that tears filled both of their eyes.

"Merlin?" at Gaius' words, Gwen spun around, red dress flaring around her ankles, dark hair flying. All of the knights looked up too, and soon everyone was watching Merlin, waiting for him to speak, or at least do_ something_. Merlin just looked at them, so very sadly. First, he met Percival's eye and the towering knight nodded sincerely, the plan was working. Merlin allowed a small smile to cross his lips, directed at his friend; it was everything he had ever wanted, magic back in Camelot. If only Arthur was at his side, there to see the great kingdom rise further, grow stronger, with magic at its heart. Next, he took a breath to steady himself and slowly faced Gwen. Her sweet face looked too desperate, so broken for somebody so young. Gwen and Merlin locked eyes, and the Queen gave a kind nod of her head to communicate everything needed – she knew. She also knew he would have done everything he could've to save Arthur. In that look was her forgiveness, but also her asking, _'Was he okay? Did he die at peace? _Merlin nodded back, his own pain reflected in her. He could not deny her one last thing.

Merlin raised his hand; fingers splayed, and uttered a quiet spell. His eyes flashed golden, orbed by light, and witnessed by the royal party; he conjured an image in the still lake waters. Gwen looked at him curiously, wondering what he had done, but Merlin only gestured towards the lake. She turned, and her gasp was quashed in her throat by her tears. For in the mist an image appeared, it was not quite real - a flashback of Arthurs death. The outlines of Merlin and Arthurs huddled figures on the hillside were moving faintly. They made no noise, but the communication between them was clear. Gwen moved forwards until she was standing in the icy water, as Arthur died in his servants arms, the picture changed to later on that day; Arthur in the boat, sailing away. Gwen now stood beside the conjured Merlin; both were watching the King float away from them. It may have just been the angle he was standing at, but from where he was looking, it appeared that Gwen was holding the vision-Merlin's hand, to let him know he was not alone. As Guinevere reached out towards an empty lake, tears etched upon her cheeks, reaching for something that was no longer there, the vision ended. It was the final thing Merlin could do for Gwen; show her Arthur's final moments, and that he was treated well in the end. That he died loved.

Merlin looked at Gaius a last time, before turning away and vanishing into the depths of the forest, never to be seen by them again.

* * *

There were times after that, of course, that Merlin wished he had gone back to Camelot. That he had spent more time with them before he learned that hard way that like all things, Camelot fell. It took many years, until Guinevere was old, and after many years of peace and prosperity and magic in the kingdom, but all things must end. They all faded, Camelot fell, and Merlin was left truly alone. He had been promised Albion for his whole life, but when it was at his happiest, he could not be there to witness it. It was like the world was playing a cruel joke on him. New kingdoms rose, wars were fought, humanity evolved; yet still Merlin remained resolute at his post. It was not his world anymore, not his fight. His fight was here, with Arthur.

So time passed, and still Merlin stayed. Technology was invented, and the forest industrialized. The immortal thing was a surprise; Merlin found he only aged if he wanted to. He stayed the same for centuries, knowing Arthur would need to recognize him when he came back, becoming a doctor when a town was built in the area where he lived. It was his way of carrying on Gaius' work, and he hoped his mentor would be proud of him if he could see him. Merlin worked hard, learning what he could, growing with the experiences, but his biggest regret was that he had to resume his old forte of hiding his magic. There were none but him left of the old religion, and people just wouldn't understand. Times hadn't changed that much.

In the world wars, Merlin worked at the local hospital, treating wounded soldiers. Both times, despite the devastation being caused, Merlin felt hopeful. _Is it the time? _But both times he was disappointed when, after endless nights sat under the stars in that damned field, Arthur made no appearance. _Would Arthur ever return? Or was it Merlin's fate to spend eternity hopelessly waiting for nothing? Was that his punishment for not saving Arthur in time, and failing his destiny? _

Merlin had worried about this for so long. He thought that he had been deceived, that Kilgarrah might have been acting from kindness; lying to him to make him carry on. At these times, Merlin sank into despair so deep that the sun would not shine for days. And back before the lake had rejoined the earth and became a field, these dark times led Merlin to extreme actions. There were times, in the first few hundred years, when the lake revealed no secrets, that Merlin had gave up. He had calmly walked into the waters, wanting to join his King in death, for he felt it was the only thing left for him. Merlin had walked steadily until the inky depths had surrounded him, praying for some sign, or just for an end, he was so very tired. Each time, as the blackness was about to overcome him, and Merlin closed his eyes, something had pushed him back up to the surface. Strong arms he could not see, but a force definitely there, carrying him back towards the light. He would wake up on the shore, curse everything in sight for not letting it all end, damp but safe. Merlin was never quite sure if it was his imagination, or even subconscious magic saving him, but he was never able to complete the act. Somewhere in his mind, a voice nagged at him, shouting _THIS IS THE SIGN_. He had been asking for proof that some part of Arthur still lived, so maybe; just maybe, it was his friend saving him. Repaying Merlin for all the times he had saved him. This part was hope. Merlin learnt that against it all, it was hope that kept a person alive.

It was hope which made Merlin, now a haggard old man, too tired to keep up a young face, walk past that spot everyday and pause. This time, hope paid off.

* * *

Now. . .

It was cold that morning. Merlin was on his walk, the one he had took every morning and evening for the past thousand years. Though the road had changed since then many times, it still remained, beaten and worn, but there. He turned the collar of his blue coat up against the wind, his pace as brisk as his aching joints would allow. Although he had silver hair and beard similar to Gaius', Merlin's eyes remained painfully young, so bright, but heavy with the weight of all he had witnessed in his long time walking the earth. He was still Merlin. _'You will always be' _his father had told him in the crystal cave, he will always be Merlin.

It was on this walk, as ordinary as any of the others taken, when Merlin found his sign. The spot, now known as Glastonbury Abbey, was covered in Arthurian myths. Arthur had been remembered: Merlin's story, spread through Percival, had lasted through the ages. It was a place connected to Arthur, fabled as his grave site; Merlin knew the stories were true. He had made them, after all. Gwen had been buried there when she passed, so she could be with her husband forever. Merlin was jealous of her in a way; she had joined him when it seemed Merlin would be parted from him forever. Merlin laid a rose where her grave had been once a year.

The dawn was bright, the sun edging higher in the sky but not yet able to break free of the Earth. Merlin was looking at his shuffling feet, not ahead, almost missing the miracle. There, thrust into the ground exactly where the lake once met the shore was a sword. No ordinary sword, _Excalibur_. It still shone as it did the day the dragon's breath gave it strength beyond all others, not looking a day old, let alone a thousand. Its lettering ran deep, it's perfectly balanced blade half buried in the grass, alongside a patch of red poppies. And it was dripping, rivulets of water gliding down the blade, falling from the handle to grass, like it – like it had just emerged from the lake.

Merlin's hope had led him to this moment, his undoubting faith in Arthur all building to this one perfect picture. His heart hammering in his mouth, eyes clouded with tears of pride brimming in his deep blue eyes, spirit soaring higher than he had ever thought possible; Merlin smiled for the first time in an age. For it was finally here. His wait was over.

_He is returning._

Behind him, a voice, one as familiar as his own, spoke his name.

"Merlin?"


	2. I'll be there before the story ends'

'I'll be there before the story ends'

(You'll be the only light I see)

"Merlin?"

The sorcerer heard the word. His name: a name he'd nearly forgotten. Then the world grew still, in anticipation, bated breath - in shock. It was like trying to swim through mud in those few seconds, barely moving sluggishness, like all were moving in slow motion. Merlin heard the word, but he didn't understand it. His breath caught, heart slowed, mind silenced. He was frozen, quite simply; unable to move to see the face he thought would only ever live in his memory. A solitary tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek, the salty water filling the crevices of his worn face. A single tear that said so much; I've missed you, it's time, I'm so sorry. But mostly it said 'The wait is over'. His heart and soul and mind sang only one word in pure unlevelled joy. _Arthur._

Breathing heavily, as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs, Merlin twisted, eventually enough so that he was facing the source of the speaking. And there he was.

Standing there, Arthur stood in full shining armour, dripping wet and clear: surrounded in an orb of brilliant light from the rising day behind him, as if he were reborn of the sun itself. _Still burning bright as ever. _He did not look to have aged a day in his thousand year rest, nor changed in any way, better or worse. In fact, he looked rested, ready. Like himself. Like the ghost that had haunted Merlin's memories for all those years. Like the face he missed more than any; the face he'd waited so long to see again. But it was too perfect. For him to be here, now: so brilliant in the sun like a knight of fairytale books. _It cannot be true. _

"No," Merlin breathed, "No. You're not real, you're in my head. You're gone, you're gone, you're gone!" His voice rose to a crescendo, as he screamed the final phrase over and over, pushing clammy hands over his eyes to block out the image. No. There had been so many times when he'd thought he'd saw his King, following sandy haired strangers or hallucinations for miles before realizing it was not his Arthur. Every time it had broken him; chiselled him down even more until there was nothing left. He would not be fooled again. This was not happening. _He _was not real. Arthur – Arthur was gone. Turned away with hands clamped over his eyes still, hunched slightly, Merlin forced himself to breathe. When he opened his eyes again, the figure would not be there, and Merlin would return home alone aside from his memories. But this hallucination was persistent.

"It _is _you, old friend." The voice spoke from Merlin's side, as an arm grasped his own and pulled a hand away from his face.

"You're not real," Merlin rasped at Arthur despairingly, yet the hand felt real, the face genuine, "you can't be." Holding Merlin's arms now, pulling them away from his weary face and into his own chest, on the dragon, Arthur looked closely into the face of his friend. Merlin was not the same as he had been. "Look at me. I'm real. I'm here Merlin, what on earth are you talking about?" Merlin watched him for a moment, feeling the solidness of the chest underneath his hands; he could even feel the faint heartbeat. _Could it be? _"Arthur" the word escaped his lips, slipped out unintentionally and emotionally. "You're. . . back. You're back." Merlin was in a shock so deep he began to shake, legs buckling beneath him, unable to contain the heaviness that was wrapped around the warlock, sinking to the ground. Arthur fell with him, concern now painted all over his face. "Merlin? What is it? Talk to me," he pleaded, for now he knelt with a shivering man clinging to him in the pale dawn, with eyes of a dying fire, but with the hope of rekindling, "please."

This seemed to get through to Merlin, whose eyes refocused on his King, and breath returned into the quietened world. He was still pale, as well as feeling faint with emotion. After all the decades waiting, he could not believe his friend was back. Still holding onto the red of his clothes, noticing the line of worry on Arthur's brow, chilled by a growing wind, he snapped back. Merlin with Arthur, at Avalon. It was foretold and now had come to pass. "Arthur" like he was a broken record stuck on repeat. It was a sight that would have proved strange to any passersby: a soaked knight holding a weeping elderly man, with the shadow that was the abbey looming in the distance. But no one came past, no cars or vehicles, not even a far off dog could be heard barking. It was as if the world had stopped just for them, just for now.

"You got old, my friend" Arthur commented with a half smile.

"You didn't," Merlin return the smile weakly, regaining at least some of his strength in the warmth of seeing Arthurs smile once more, "how rude of you. It's been a long time, my lord."

"How long has it been? This place is a dreadful looking sight, what has become of my beautiful kingdom? This surely cannot be Camelot." Merlin couldn't think how to answer. How do you tell someone that everything they held dearly was gone? Merlin spoke, "Do you remember? All that passed in those last few days? That I'm-"

"-a sorcerer? How could I forget?" Arthur had many years to think of his friend, and the secret between them like a barrier. But he had forgiven Merlin for his secrecy even before his first passing, surely he knew that? By the look of it, his friend had walked the earth for many a year, and it had changed him beyond Arthur's ways of repair. "But I fear you're not the same person you were, you're changed, Merlin. I can see it."

"I'm still me," Merlin said, briefly the haze lifting and his old face, so kind, flashing upon his face. "May I?" With a consenting nod from Arthur, Merlin closed his eyes to concentrate; conjure long forgotten words to mind, "_ieuenctid__hen__, __dychwelyd.__adennill__fy hun o__oed__hen_." His voice was stronger as he performed the magic, more confident. After chanting the phrase, his eyes snapped open, filled with bright light. Merlin changed in front of Arthur's eyes: old features dissolved to boyish looks, lines of age smoothed, face falling back into place. In seconds, Merlin, his Merlin, how he had looked back at Camelot, was kneeling before him. Young once more, just a boy in looks but not in mind, the young warlock was returned to hos former glory, just as Arthur had been returned to him. Merlin, real Merlin, was back.

"Merlin!" Arthur spoke clearly now, for it was his friend before him again, not the hardened sorcerer he had seen at the battle of Camlaan. They still knelt on the dewy grass, Arthur holding Merlin's arms, but saw nothing but the others face. He saw Merlin, same as he always was, ruffled hair too messy to be considered clean, dimpled face creased into relief, eyes bright; but it was his eyes that worried Arthur. Despite him being restored physically, Merlin had still lived through nearly the whole of time. The memories, the heartache – that would not be fixed so easily. He looked tired. Drained. Beaten. But still holding onto hope.

For Merlin, he saw his King. Alive. It was possibly the greatest sight he had ever seen. Better than the dragon's egg hatching, more great than Arthur being crowned King, far more amazing than the first time he had used magic. But he was troubled, for Arthur looked so young now, undamaged by the realities of everything that was to come. He looked unafraid of anything, hopeful that he would again be King of Camelot. But Camelot was gone. And it killed Merlin that he would have to break this news; see Arthur's hope fade a little. But right now, nothing bad hung between them. A blissful happiness consumed them both, so they were content to forget anything they needed saying for now.

"Now we have both defied time." Merlin said. Then he broke down, tears streaming down his now youthful face, of relief and pain. Love, too. Yes, there was love there. As he crumbled, face turned to the grass, Arthur felt a surge of sympathy rise within him. He had treated the boy so poorly over the years, yet it was him who remained, loyal to the end. As Merlin cried, he drew him closer, in the embrace both had waited for. Kneeling in his Kings arms, the reassurance there, Merlin sobbed harder. Arthur's cape flowed around them in the may breeze, curling behind them, leaving the sight of the King and his young Warlock open for the world to see. The world watched, pleased with its work of magic and might. For some lives, few among great men, were foretold; this moment was meant to be perfect.

Afterwards, both were unsure how long they had stayed in the cold morning. But they remembered it fondly, for all that followed expanded outwards from that very moment. But for now, they knew not was to come, only what _is. _

"You were a boy when I first met you," Arthur began nostalgically, talking down to Merlin's huddled form, "then, as we lived and fought, you became a man before my eyes. The bravest one I ever knew, despite what I said to you the last time we spoke in Camelot. You grew up. And now, after however long I have been gone, and you have waited, you have become more than a man. I can't believe I'm saying this, Merlin, but I do think you are possible the greatest man this world has ever seen, or ever will see." He spoke softly, from the heart, trying to console his most loyal friend, but not knowing how to fix the damage left. He had never felt as helpless before, not in any of his battles, nor as he lay dying. Arthur wanted so desperately to make everything okay, but knew such things took time. "Even if you are also the biggest clotpole to walk the Earth as well" he added, and through the tears he felt Merlin's shoulders begin to shake with laughter. The boy glanced up, "that's my word."

* * *

"Here it is" Merlin threw his arms wide, beaming at Arthur as they stood next to the wooden gate in front of Merlin's cottage. He loved it deeply, it's quirky outlook, stone walls like the castles', the home he had built there. Arthur, on the other hand, looked less impressed. "That's it?" He asked, eyebrows hitting his hairline and his old snark creeping into his voice. "What's wrong with it?" Merlin's face dropped into an expression of hurt, exaggerated for Arthur's benefit. Pretending it was all alright, the usual routine between them; comedy and tragedy. "Well, for the so-called 'greatest sorcerer to walk the earth' you live in an awfully . . . small, would you call this a home?"

"Typical, there's just no pleasing you." Merlin opened the gate in an exasperated manner; it swung forward with a familiar creak as he trotted down the stone path to his yellow front door. "You never change" he grinned, hearing Arthur following him steadily. Merlin turned, to see the King had stalked past the gate without a second thought as to shutting it. He rolled his eyes, putting on an old face, dusted off from misuse for years; it was the one he wore whenever Arthur did something idiotic and arrogant. Merlin scurried down the path, sarcastically closing the gate himself as Arthur watched on, bewildered. Then he was back at his front door, picking a key from his deep pockets (he noticed that the clothes he'd donned as an old man no longer fit him well). "Ta da!" he opened the door with a flourish. Arthur pushed past, treading heavily in Merlin's garden and uprooting the daffodil's to enter the warmth of the house. As he passed, he muttered "just like magic", smirking at his own joke. When it came to Merlin and Arthur, things would never change.

Merlin's home was simple; a kitchen, a bedroom, an empty garage. It was small, "cosy" according to the warlock, furnished cheerlessly. The kitchen was white and silver, the bedrooms lacked colour, a plain house for a man with a washed out heart. Arthur noticed this, but held his tongue, taking a seat on the sofa in the living room awkwardly. He had never seen such things! Just, over on the way here, they had seen a vile beast, a metal horse spewing monstrous black gas as it went. Above, noisy metal birds roared, and then there was this house – water that came from neither well nor river, but from a "tap"; light flooding the rooms with a flick of a switch, not by firelight; such bright and unusual things he never thought he'd see. It quite tired him, really, trying to figure it all out. There were too many things to think on, too much to be said.

Merlin came back to find him sitting there, looking dumbfounded at the walls and lights in confusion. "You okay?" he asked, knowing that it would be hard for Arthur to comprehend the new world he had entered. Arthur nodded slowly, "it's just, strange. This is not the world I left." He kept back his question about how long exactly had passed, having figured out for himself that it had been quite some time, and what that meant for his old friend. From his place at the door, Merlin nodded in agreement, "It was funny, watching it change. I never thought it would become this." He seemed lost in thought for a second, lost in memory. Then he snapped back to the present, entering the room with a warm smile and placing a green mug in front of Arthur, "Here, drink this."

"What is it?" asked Arthur, regarding the substance in the cup suspiciously, smelling it tentatively.

"Tea," said Merlin, smiling as he took the armchair opposite him, "try it. You'll like it." He himself, after the shock of the day, had gone for a much stronger drink. Arthur noticed this, and reached forwards to grab Merlin's smaller glass of brown liquid. "Whats this then? It's not the same."

"That's mine!" Merlin made an attempt to grab back his drink, but Arthur was too quick, twisting away to keep it away from him. "You won't like it, Arthur. I'm warning you."

"oh, you're warning me? I see, big man's saving all the good drinks to himself." Arthur was smirking as he took a huge gulp of the liquid. His expression quickly changed as he spat the whiskey onto the floor. "Are you trying to kill the king?" he demanded of Merlin, who was laughing, actually laughing, so hard his sides shook and stomach ached. "Because that's – that's treason – what poison was that?" His face was priceless, horror, shock, disgust at the foul taste lingering on his lips, it was hilarious. Merlin could not contain himself, giggling like a schoolboy with hands clasped around his side as his friend got to his feet in anger. "I did warn you" he choked out, "I told you that you wouldn't like it. You just didn't listen – as usual." Then, to add insult to injury, he picked up the glass and drained the remaining alcohol with a grin. Arthur still looked outraged, but was so relieved to see Merlin smiling that he softened, taking a seat on the sofa once more. "What was that?" he repeated.

"Whiskey," Merlin answered, unsure how to explain the drink simply, "It's uh, like mead from the tavern, only stronger."

"Oh well that explains it all then, I should have known you'd still spend most of your time in the tavern."

"Typical knight" challenged Merlin, fighting Arthur's condescending attitude with his own satire, "can't handle his liquor, too much 'honour' to admit it."

"You can't insult me, I'm the king"

"And I'm Sir Merlin," the warlock couldn't help but grin, remembering how much he'd wanted to tease the King about Gwen knighting him all those years ago. "What?" Arthur was shocked, his jaw nearly hitting the floor.

"Gwen knighted me in my absence, or so I've heard," Merlin grinned, "I'm a knight now." They laughed. Merlin- a knight? It was ridiculous. Neither could hold in the laughter bubbling up within them. They couldn't help it: they were back and it was like the old days and it was wonderful. Arthur caught Merlin's eye; refusing to let it go this time.

"Answer me honestly, old friend. How long has it been since my passing?" He asked earnestly, but was surprised by the response. Merlin welled up, tears brimming in darkened eyes flashing pain from days gone by. He let no tears fall, maintaining his composure in from of his King. He opened his mouth a few times, but found no words came out, he had to breathe noisily and blink the water from his eyes before answering quietly, not looking Arthur in the eyes. "A thousand years, my lord."

"A _thousand _years?" Arthur's voice rose in amazement, his expression re arranging itself on his face to one of complete shock. Surely it could not have been so long? Yes, time did pass strangely in the other world; days could pass in the blink of an eye or stretch for eternities. But a thousand years? It was not possible. That would mean everything . . . everything was gone. It had all changed. _Except for Merlin._

_ "_But that would mean you're, you're-"

"Immortal? Yeah, funny how things work out." Merlin was back to his old ways, trying to force a smile, but his true feelings were thinly veiled. Arthur was quiet for a long time, staring into the fire. "You have waited all this time for me?" he finally asked.

"I was told you would return" Merlin admitted.

"But for a thousand years?" Arthur moved forward in his seat, staring Merlin down in disbelief. "You waited all that time for me."

"Of course I did," Merlin smiled, embarrassed and looking down, "you're my King, and my friend."

"But it's more than just being a friend. I don't think I've ever known such loyalty, or ever will again. You've waited for so long, my friend; you deserve that knighthood - perhaps more than any man." Arthur was touched, genuinely. He knew his fellow knights would have died beside him, but to wait a hundred lifetimes? That was beyond all others. It seemed that even now he underestimated the boy who sat before him, still not quite meeting his eye. Of course, it was Merlin after all: he would call it his duty or destiny to wait for Arthur and was happy not to receive any credit for it. He would not speak of his time waiting, or what he had done for it, for it was never of his self that Merlin thought. Arthur was finally beginning to understand a selfless man, and it would change him.

"I'm sorry" After Merlin stayed silent for some time, seemingly lost to the world in memories, Arthur spoke again, "It must have been terrible." Stirred, the sorcerer sighed, looking up at his King. "It was - hard, I won't deny. But the worst part was that I had all those years to think about how I had failed you when you needed me the most. That I have had to wait so long to apologize."

"Apologize? You have nothing to be sorry for, you tried harder than anyone. You did more for Camelot than anyone."

"But I let you down!" Merlin became agitated now, fingers twitching as he poured himself another drink.

"You think, even now that you failed?" not getting a reply from the silent man, he continued "You never failed me. You made Camelot safe; you stopped Morgana; You-"

"-watched you die? Knew it was my fault? Failed my destiny? I did a great deal, Arthur. Not all of it was good."

"But _you_ are_ good_. In every sense of the word. The goodness inside is what saved us all, and you will always be a good man, even if you make mistakes." Arthur now tried a sip of the 'tea' Merlin had made him. It was much more to his taste; Merlin glanced across the room, breaking his mournful silence. "Better, my lord?"

"Much, Sir Merlin" At that, they shared a smile.

* * *

Later, when the day had been drawn from the sky and replaced with darkness, punctuated with tiny stars roaring with light, Arthur found Merlin standing in his little garden, watching the skies. He stayed in the shadows for a second, just content in watching his friend. Merlin looked calm now there was no one to impress or be strong for: his face was clear, eyes brighter, body less tense as he watched the stars above him, ever in awe of the beauty of the world. Arthur could see him visibly relax, so carefree, so young looking, even now the King knew his true age greatly outweighed his appearance. To have lived so long and not be irreplaceably broken was an amazing feat, showing his true heart. Arthur was proud of the man his friend had become. "Stargazing?" He asked, stepping from the shadows, "that's a bit girly isn't it Merlin?" The boy's lips curved into a slow smile as he glanced away from the stars that filled his eyes, seeing his King in leaning in the doorway. Arthur was still dressed in his full armour, no longer damp but still heavy, and silly looking in the modern day. "Gardening too," He said, "after you trod all over my daffodils."

Arthur held up his hands in mock defeat "Stargazing _and _gardening? It's no wonder you're a knight, entire armies wouldn't stand a chance again your mighty talents."

"We really need to get you some new clothes" Merlin mused, regarding Arthur armour thoughtfully. "What's wrong with this?"

"You can't walk around dressed up as a Knight, dollop head."

"I _am_ a knight!" Arthur protested; he had worn this armour for every major battle, and was reluctant to lose it now.

"I know that," Merlin said, "But people aren't knights anymore. It's a new world Arthur, things don't work the same. We'll have to find something out for you; I have some things that might fit." They made their way back indoors, shutting out the nights chill. Arthur in particular was amazed by the concept of central heating, glad not to have to build a fire all the time; it was lovely and warm inside the cottage. He stood as Merlin stooped low to rifle through drawers in the cupboard built into the wall in the hallway. "Here," Merlin stood, brandishing a bright orange T shirt at least three sizes too much for Arthur and a faded pair of jeans, "perfect."

"You are joking?" Arthur couldn't help the sarcasm creeping into his voice, but sternly reminded himself to be kinder to his friend.

"It's the best I can do for now, I'm afraid. I'll go shopping tomorrow and try to find something that fits." Merlin was already haphazardly throwing unneeded garments back into the drawers, pushing it shut with his foot and turning to his King. "Well?" he asked with an impish grin, "Aren't you going to try them on?" Arthur, who had been deep in thought for hours, inquired carefully a question which had been playing on his mind all day.

"Earlier, you said Guinevere knighted you 'in your absence', what does that mean? Surely you returned to Camelot?" Merlin's face clouded, almost looking guilty. "No. I stayed at the lake; Percival found me later that day and I sent with him a message back to Camelot, but I never went back myself."

"But I had just died, and the kingdom needed protecting – you just left them?!" Arthur felt anger rising in his stomach, red-hot and grief stricken. How could Merlin just abandon his friends? Guinevere was strong, but she would have needed support in those early days, and who better than the world's greatest sorcerer to help her? Fuming, he dropped the clothes at Merlin's feet, not caring about the strange look on the boys face as he did so. "I couldn't face them, not after I'd let them all down." Yes, it was guilt on Merlin's face, but he spoke the truth.

"But what if they had needed you? You said Camelot fell – could you have stopped it?" Arthur demanded, moving closer to Merlin as his rage flared, waving his hands dramatically as he spoke. "No! Yes, maybe. I – I don't know. I know the attack on Camelot was unexpected, but that was years after Gwen's time. It wasn't my fight anymore!"

"But it was when Guinevere was still alive, when my knights needed guidance!"

"No!" Merlin, for one of the few times, felt genuine anger towards Arthur. Not the playful stop-being-an-idiot anger, but real rage. Arthur had no idea what he'd been through – what it had been like. "No, it wasn't! My fight was with you, clotpole! Always with you!" He shouted in his Kings face; then turned away in frustration, running a hand through his hair. Today had been so perfect, why couldn't Arthur just leave the past alone? God knows Merlin had tried to forget it. "You know Merlin, I really thought after today you weren't a coward, but leaving them all behind? That's a coward's way out." Arthur was no longer angry, but disappointed. Merlin might have saved his kingdom, but hid away from shame instead. He started to walk away, but had only gone a few steps before the boy roared behind him, causing him to spin around. "How could I leave you?" Merlin yelled, facing Arthur now, seeming to grow to twice his height in his rage, "You were dead! Everything I had worked for: Everything I had lost – it was for nothing! I'd been shot, poisoned, tortured; lost my best friend, my father, the only woman I ever loved – and you're calling me a coward? I'd worked for my destiny for my whole life; but it all went way with you. The only thing I had was a promise, a stupid, worthless," he was spitting the words out now, drawing nearer to his King with each one, "last hope. How could I leave you after all that?"

With this, Merlin passed Arthur like a full blown storm, striding to his bedroom and slamming the door. It shook in its frame as he yanked the bolt across, locking himself in and leaving Arthur alone in the hallway. The King stood stiff, anger emitting from every part of his body as he began to pace the hallway. Head whipping about in every direction, with his hands clenched at his sides, he even started towards Merlin's door a few times before stopping himself. _No,_ he thought, _now is not the time for fighting._ Upon this realisation, he ceased his pacing and took several deep breaths, reminding himself to think. Could any of it be true? Could Merlin, who never complained about anything serious, suffered so? Although he tried to convince himself that it couldn't have been that bad for the servant, he knew in his heart that he was in the wrong, and that Merlin had done more than anyone. Then it was his turn to feel guilty for his harsh words – Merlin was no coward. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Merlin on the other hand, stood a few steps inside the room, back to the door, back stiff, tears forming in his eyes that he angrily pushed away. How could Arthur treat him like that? He waited a thousand years for him, it wasn't meant to end like this! But as always he had acted arrogantly, assuming he knew the full extent of what had happened, hurting Merlin once more. Now, the warlock was through with him – with all of it. Destiny, fate, promises – what good had it ever done him? In the end, it had left him alone. Hands again wound tightly in dark hair, despairing and broken down, he felt his body being magnetically pulled around, back towards the door. He stopped short just in front of it, unaware Arthur had done exactly the same thing on the other side.

It had been said a long, long time ago that a half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. Eternities later, this was still being proved to be right. For Arthur and Merlin's coin had been flipped, but it was landing, lucky side up.

There, standing on separate sides of a door, both made a decision in their own minds. It went unspoken, but it didn't need saying. After all this time, they weren't going to leave one another now. Arthur stepped forwards, lifting a hand to knock the door, pausing with a sigh, then letting his hand fall. There was no answer from Merlin, who started at the knock, but had turned away once again, not yet ready to listen. "Merlin" he called, leaning against the door frame now, talking closely to the door. "I'm sorry," Arthur kept talking, turning as he did so he was now leaning with his back against the door, one knee bent and head up. "You're my friend and I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." The young warlock had tears rolling down his face now, anger subsided but reluctant to listen, he stood resolute with his back to the door, but even then he could feel himself stirring, wanting to open the door. He pushed this feeling down, shaking his head angrily, putting his hands to his mouth as his face creased. "MER-LIN" with each syllable, Arthur banged the back of his head against the door. "Listen to me, I need you."

At this, Merlin felt his resolve shatter; shoulders sagging, he slowly crept towards the white peeling door. He paused before it, reaching a hand out and leaning his head against the wood; closing his eyes. "Let me in, please" His friend pleaded from the other side, and Merlin was reminded of similar words said long ago _"Just hold me, please". _A final tear fell before he opened the door a fraction. Arthur flipped around, their eyes met: then they understood. Each was sorry, each had made mistakes, but it was all forgiven. They froze there, just watching the other, for a while. It was Arthur who broke the silence, sitting suddenly cross-legged on the carpet. "What's your favourite spell?" he asked.

"What?" surprised, Merlin opened the door the whole way, light from inside flooding the hallway, illuminating Arthur's face. "I've had a long time to think about it. I've only even seen you use magic two, maybe three times. You must have a favourite spell?" Arthur gestured for Merlin to sit, and he did, sitting opposite the king on the ground after clicking off the light switch which seemed too artificial. "Well," Merlin's face was screwed up in concentration, thinking hard about the question. He'd never really thought about it before. In a flash it came to him: it was the clearest thing in the world. "There was one spell, long ago. Morgana took away my magic for a while once, but I found myself and it was returned to me. It was the first spell I did when I got it back" Merlin smiled slightly at the memory, eyes clouded over in memory.

Arthur leaned forward slightly, interested, "will you show me?"

Merlin nodded; of course he would. Kneeling, as he had done before, hands cupped, he closed his eyes. "Gewyrc an lif"he spoke the spell reverently, with power in every breath. Light flashed in his irises as his eyes flew open. Looking at Arthur for a moment, and seeing the Kings fascination, he slowly opened his sealed hands, from which sprang a butterfly, glowing its own light upon them. The King's face lit up as the butterfly, Camelot red this time, flew around their heads, encircling them. Gaze fixed on the beautiful creature above him, Arthur did not see how Merlin was staring only at him; face a mix of emotions; curiosity, anticipation, relief. Above all that was a strong joy at finally being able to do this, to be his true self in front of his friend. Long had Merlin dreamed of this moment but seeing the pure amazement and adoration on the King's face, Merlin realized he would have waited all the time in the world for this. With a smile bursting full of everything he'd ever hoped, the young warlock too lifted his head skywards, where the butterfly flew high and proud. Together, they sat in awed silence in that tiny stone cottage, where far above in the inky sky stars sang of this story right across the universe. The creature faded, but still they sat, not noticing the new dawn as it passed them by. For all they knew, they had all the time in the world.


	3. Long Live Us

'Long Live Us'

Merlin woke with a start, flinching awake and sending the thin blankets covering him to the floor. Arthur had just entered the living room, disrupting his friend's deep sleep. "You're awake" the King remarked casually, slumping on the chair opposite the one Merlin was curled up in moments before, sleeping peacefully for the first time in ages, with no nightmares to plague his rest. "I am now." Merlin had given up his bed for the King, sleeping instead on the chair with only a thin grey blanket to keep him warm, not that he minded in the slightest. He was still just so glad his friend had returned. In waking, he found there to be an extra blanket at his feet, and wondered if it had been the King himself who had put it there. Probably not though, he thought, - he'd probably just forgotten getting it the night before. Little did he know that it was Arthur who had woken in the dark hours of the morning; saw his friends sleeping in the cold then realizing Merlin had yet again selflessly given up his comfort for him. Arthur had considered waking him let the warlock go back to his own bed, but the boy had been sleeping so peacefully, Arthur could not find it in his heart to wake him. So instead, he had gone to the cupboards Merlin had been sorting through the night before and found another blanket, silently covering his friend with it before returning to the bedroom like a shadow.

"What time is it?" Merlin asked, shifting in his seat until he could see the clock on the far wall. _5:30am_. The numbers glared back at him, Merlin rubbing a hand over his tired eyes as they adjusted to the hazy dawn light. "Bloody hell Arthur, why did you get up so early?" he demanded, looking over at his friend and noticing the King was being uncharacteristically quiet. "It was dawn; do you not wake at this time anymore?" At Camelot, there had been no clocks; therefore the only concept of time they possessed was through the rising and setting of the sun. Arthur did not realize that these days, people did _not _get up so early. "It. . . doesn't matter" Merlin could not be bothered to explain it to Arthur, opting to instead make himself a strong coffee and deal with the ungodly hour as best he could. After five minutes, splashing his face with water, busying himself in the kitchen, Merlin came back to the living room. "Here" he put another cup of tea in front of the King, having made the decision that Arthur and coffee was not a good combination. "Thank you" Arthur spoke more quietly than usual, not even looking at Merlin as he took a sip. He seemed off, or at least deep in thought, and both were uncommon so Merlin began to worry. Especially when he noticed that Arthur had changed into the hideous clothes from his drawer, something the Arthur he knew would be too proud to do. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing" Again, the old King spoke with a disjointed, flat voice.

"There is no need to lie to me – something's obviously bothering you."

Arthur sighed at this, finally meeting the sorcerers gaze. "I've been remembering things" Arthur started before pausing.

"Things from the other world?" the sorcerer asked.

"Yes." Merlin, having no answer to this, fell silent. He had never been to, or seen, the other world; it seemed likely that he never would. To live for so long without dying was both a gift and a burden. He did not understand what it was like to die, so he wouldn't pretend to. It was patronising when people did that: pretend to understand your pain when really, they have no idea.

"People visited me sometimes" Arthur spoke, but his voice shook. It had been a terrible place, the other world. He had been distant even there, away from everyone else, separated. Now he knew it was because he too was waiting. There was a plan for him to return, so until then he could not fully enter the spirit world. He could see them all, everyone he had once known: Guinevere, Leon, Gaius – all who had passed into that world. But they could not see him. He had yelled at them, but his cries fell on deaf ears; tried to touch them, but his hands had passed through them like smoke. Eventually he had come to accept it. It had been hard, to see them but not be able to be with them. That's when the visits started. "They spoke to me about you."

"About me?" Placing a hand on his chest and sitting up eagerly, genuine surprise plastered all over his face, Merlin felt his interest ignite.

"Yes," they held each others gaze intently now, "they spoke like you-"

"Like I what?"

"Like you weren't a complete idiot" Arthur said dryly as Merlin chuckled. "They spoke of you like a hero, Merlin. Like you held the secrets of the world and all the stars." Merlin looked confused now, leaning back in his chair.

"Me?" he asked, shaking his head, "nah, it can't be me. I'm useless, remember?" He joked, but Arthur remained serious, not even cracking a smile.

"Yes Merlin. you. They said they had known you in life but they called you by a different name."

"Emrys?"

"Yes, how did you know?" Arthur was surprised; his eyebrows raised high upon his brow. He had thought that Merlin would have no idea what they said about him.

"It is what the druids once called me" Merlin admitted, "they told me things in the old days about my destiny." The King looked thoughtful - it made sense. "So, your name isn't even Merlin? You kept so much from me, old friend." Looking rejected, Merlin guiltily dropped eye contact, ashamed even though it was his lies that protected him.

"I am Merlin. But I am also known by other names, some you may know, some you won't. No matter what I'm called - I'm still me" He pleaded.

"So you are the Emrys Morgana feared so much?" It seemed strange to the King that it was Merlin who had caused so much trouble for Morgana, whom he knew to be extremely powerful. Merlin nodded. "She never knew it was me until the end, I always hid myself from her. It was Mordred who revealed my secret in the end."

"He knew?"

"He always did, and so did others. I'm sorry they had to lie to you but they did it with the best intentions."

"Who?" Arthur did not seem angry. He was looking at Merlin; learning more about his friend than he had thought there was to know. "Gaius knew from the start. Lancelot helped me too, there were others, but you would not remember them."

"Lancelot? He was a traitor in more ways than one, it seems"

"No!" Merlin raised his voice, "Never. He was a shade, Arthur, a spirit conjured by Morgana. It was never him with Guinevere, he was not himself. He had no choice." Merlin thought of his other friend sadly. Lancelot was a good man; at least now Arthur knew it. "He never betrayed you."

"Then I treated him badly." Even Arthur appeared remorseful. "But I was trying to tell you something – the visitors! Merlin, they told me such things about you. Great things . . . and terrible things."

"Who were they?" Suddenly, Merlin sprang forward in his seat, eyes widened. There were but few who knew enough of him to tell these things.

"Merlin?" Startled at the change in his friend, Arthur became reluctant to answer.

"What were their names?" The warlock persisted, fire in his eyes.

"The first was a man, that Dragon Lord we met when the Great Dragon escaped. He called himself Balinor, and he told me that you were waiting." Merlin's face was strange now, a sort of strangled sadness he could not express. "Then there was this girl. Her eyes were so sad." Merlin knew it was Freya without being told. "Then another man, Alator. He spoke of you with such esteem, like you were all he believed in. The last visitor I received was no man or woman, but the Great Dragon. It was he who told me it was time to come back." Finishing his story, but not in full, Arthur regarded his friends face. Merlin looked both happy and deeply sad, a conflicted emotion halfway between dead and alive. Despite it all, Merlin was glad to know his loved ones were still watching over him even now; the thought comforted him.

"Who were they?" Arthur asked. The visitors had told him many things about his friend: his deeds, his heartaches, stories of things he'd done. But they never said what they were to him. Arthur had a million and one questions, but this is the one he chose to ask. "It doesn't matter now," Merlin said, "they're long gone."

* * *

Five hours, a problematic bus journey, a traumatized shop assistant and several minor injuries later, Arthur stood in front of Merlin fully dressed in new clothes and clearly more comfortable. It had been an eventful day; Arthur's first shopping experience proving to be more difficult than expected. But now he stood dressed in jeans that actually fit, a plain white t - shirt and a red hoodie. They had gotten him multiple versions of the same basic shirt but in different colours and a black jacket for colder days. Arthur just seemed happy not to be in the huge orange tee shirt anymore.

"Better?" Merlin asked, laughing at Arthur's glee. The trouble of the shopping trip suddenly seemed worth it.

"Fit for a King" Arthur jested. It was nice to have moment like this, when all that mattered was laughing. The mid-morning sun streamed through the window, pooling in the small room. Safely back at Merlin's cottage, the morning's dark talk seemed far away. The other world and its inhabitants didn't matter, for they had succeeded, a small success, but a success nonetheless. Sometimes, you just have to take your victories where you can.

* * *

"Merlin" Arthur poked his friend in the ribs, and for the second time that day, the sorcerer was prematurely woken. Groaning, he rolled over in the bed to the source of his irritation, hair mussed up from hours sleeping. "What is it?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. From his place lying on his stomach, a sideways Arthur frowned at him. "Wake up" the King said forcefully, poking Merlin again. This time, he fully woke; jolting up in bed as he concluded something was up. "I'm awake, I'm awake!" he protested as Arthur made to hit him again.

"Good," Arthur said, "You had better make some more of that 'tea' – I have to tell you something." Nodding, Merlin walked to the kitchen, clicking the kettle on. He shivered, wishing he wore more than a thin grey t-shirt with blue pyjama trousers. He found Arthur in the living room in his usual chair, and starting a fire quickly using magic to warm them, he turned to his friend, mug in hand.

"I remembered something" Arthur announced as Merlin sat, curious now, but cautious. Why did something have to come along and ruin this happiness? Undoubtedly something would, for it was told that Arthur would return during Albion's greatest need. "What?" he breathed; a silent sigh escaping him. Just one day of peace before the storm came was all he got, one shining day with Arthur, shopping of all things, before events beyond their control were set into motion. "The Great Dragon," Arthur started, worried about breaking this news, for it was foreboding indeed, "he had a message for you. He called it the second great prophecy or something – does that mean anything to you?"

Merlin paled visibly. "Yes, I heard a prophecy once before and it ruined everything" the boy tried to bluff this as being casual, shrugging as he spoke, as if his heart had not just tripled its pace. "The dragon told me I had to tell you, only you. He said it was important above all else – I can't believe I forgot, and I apologise for that."

"What did he say, Arthur? Are you sure you remember it exactly? It's important"

"Yes"

"Are you sure?" Merlin had stiffened, back straight with tension. Analysing his King with a gaze so sharp it could cut.

"Of course I'm sure Merlin, unlike you, some of us don't spend so much time in the Tavern we forget our own names." Arthur said, exasperated. When the boy did not laugh, he became serious once more. "I remember every word – how could I forget? The sentences are carved into my mind; I think they shall remain there always."

"Let me write this down," Hopping over the back of his chair and nimbly running to a bookcase in the corner, Merlin grabbed a scrap of paper - an old envelope, as well as a book to lean on. Back in his seat, he reached for an old biro on the coffee table, scribbling a few lines on the sheet to check it worked, "Go on." Arthur paused for a moment, recalling the verses to his mind; then spoke clearly the second great prophecy. Afterwards, Merlin sat with a page of words and jumbled thoughts. Just as everything was getting better, things fell apart. Funny how life had a habit of doing that.

Arthur watched on, unsure whether he should talk: for a silence had fallen when the prophecy was spoken. It hung around them now like a heavy cloak weighing them down. His friend looked stricken, disappointed, like he had been hoping for something else. Arthur wondered what it must be like to have your life shaped by some force known as 'destiny'. It must be a hard life, one of intense pressure, and again he was filled with a new respect for his old friend. For what he had fought for, trying to prevent until the last second even though fighting a force no man could control was hopeless. Arthur figured the first prophecy was the one which had told Merlin of his death. Now, a new one seemed a daunting prospect. Nothing good would come of it. It read simply:

_From the Ashes was born a flame in the west,_

_The hawk of may will fly once again,_

_And the tree of a man woke from his rest,_

_Into a new world, not one they left._

_Through this cold place the noble hearted shall walk,_

_But the story not ended nor written in stone,_

_The one most loved in the shadows will stalk,_

_A kingdom rose, built on fate and much talk._

_The darkness is rising to turn the sky grey,_

_The conflicted soldier to enter the fray,_

_New wings are forged in the sun of the East,_

_Leader of men, next to summoner of beast._

_So it was foretold and these glory days blessed,_

_To decide if Camelot shall rise again,_

_Wise old Emrys will face his final test,_

_Lead the Once and Future King on his greatest quest._

"What does it mean?" Arthur asked finally, shredding the silence.

"I don't know yet" came the answer, a distracted one, as the boy was still musing the words, turning them over in his mind in the hope of making sense of them. If only it were that easy. "Nothing good, though. I'm guessing" countered the King.

"No," Merlin looked up this time, eyes alight, "It means danger and fighting and possible injuries and undoubtedly torture at some point and maybe poison and knowing my luck it will all happen to me and a whole lot of other bad news." At this, he stopped and grinned at the King, "It really is just like the old days." With sudden energy, the warlock leapt to his bare feet, stretching.

"We need to figure it out" said Arthur, stating the obvious. Merlin nodded, eyebrows raised thoughtfully. He was still playing it as a game. Pretending it was all alright when he felt like screaming. It would seem that even now he could not escape some 'destiny' set for him, no safe times, no good days. Sometimes, the world and fate made him want to tear his hair out. "Yes we do, but not now. It's late, go to bed, my lord - I'll take the chair again."

"Merlin"

"Go. You need your sleep; I know how grumpy you get without it!" Merlin pointed a finger, ushering Arthur to his feet and out the door.

"Merlin" the King said again, growing impatient at being pushed out.

"Arthur," the warlock mocked his friends tone "bed – now. We don't want an angry little King in the morning now do we?"

"Merlin!" Arthur threw his body weight, shifting so Merlin's hands fell from his arm. No longer pushing him out the door, the boy's face fell a little, before he picked it up forcefully. "Don't act like this is all okay." The King thought he knew enough of his friend now to tell that this was all an act. He was forceful but calm, like the sea before a storm. "It is fine, sire. I'll figure it out." Merlin protested.

"But you don't have to do that alone." That stopped him in his tracks. Merlin struggled with himself for a second, before turning brightly to his King. "Thank you, my friend. I know that. But it is late, and with a new day will come hope. This riddle can be left till tomorrow." He smiled convincingly, so the King bade him a troubled goodnight then retreated to the bedroom. Arthur was no fool, but knew better than to push his friend. On the outside it was smiles all round, but he could see that his friend was scared. It was fitfully that Arthur slept that night, waking many times from restless dreams.

Merlin, once alone in the living room, closed the door, cutting the world out. He sat by the dying fire with the envelope of hastily scrawled words clutched in his lap, nervously biting the end of his pen as he pondered the meaning of the lines. They were important, he knew that, it was figuring it out exactly which proved the problem. With a sigh and sip of tea he set to work, noting down any meaning that sprang to mind. Hours later, when dawn had come with new light, he still had no solution. The only thing gained from the time was dark circles around his tired eyes; a feeling of dread firmly settled in his stomach. No further to an answer, he rose to stretch aching limbs, slipping into the garden for a break. He tended to his flowers, got some fresh air: fought the rising tide as best he could. Merlin wondered how long he could hold out before it took him.

* * *

"It's late," Arthur remarked as he strolled into the room, "the sun is well risen, why did you not wake me?" Merlin glanced up from his perch on the windowsill, where he had rested, watching the cars pass by. "You looked tired" he answered, brushing Arthur's questioning gaze off; he stood, throwing the envelope which he still held into the table. "So do you" Ignoring Merlin's nonchalant attitude, the King continued, "Did you sleep ay all last night?"

"Of course" Merlin lied.

"You can't lie to me Merlin, I'm the King"

"That's Sir Merlin to you"

"Recycling your jokes?" Arthur pulled a face, "now I know there's something wrong." Merlin rolled his eyes as he left the room.

The Warlock showered in ten spare minutes, refreshed by the cold water after sleepless night. After trudging to this bedroom, he changed into a clean navy tee with a blue and green cotton shirt thrown over it and a fresh pair of jeans. He ruffled his hands through his hair by way of organising it, quickly brushing his teeth before starting to make breakfast. It was as he returned, balancing two bowls of cereal in one hand, when he spotted it. Arthur had picked up the creased envelope the prophecy was written on; thoughtfully sitting, one leg crossed over the other, reading it again. It was quite by chance that in moving the envelope, he left the book Merlin had leaned on to write open to see. It was a book on Arthurian legends and their descents; the warlock had many in his bookcase simply because the stories made him smile, both at memories but also the absurdity of some of them. Also he figured they might come in useful someday - perhaps he was right. This book in particular was about whether there were any facts behind the myths, or their roots. Putting the bowls down abruptly, he grabbed the book and flicked through a few pages, looking for answers. "Found something?" Arthur asked, glancing up.

"I'm not sure yet," Merlin mused, blue eyes scanning each page for keywords from the prophecy, "But all of this" he waved the book "– it sounds like you're not the only one coming back."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we have work to do. And we might be seeing some friends very soon" Merlin went to the bookcase and yanked out an armful of books to do with Arthurian myths, throwing a few in his friend's direction. Arthur caught them with ease, turning them over in his hands with a confused expression. "The books," he started, "they're about _me_?" At the strange tone of his voice, Merlin looked up. Arthur stood staring at the book in his hands like it might attack him at any moment. "They never forgot you, Arthur," the warlock said, coming over and placing a supporting hand on his friend's shoulder, "I told you there would never be another like you." The King looked up and Merlin smiled; never before had he seen Arthur look so humbled. They caught eyes, only for a second or two, feeling the enormity of their past rise again them like a wave. But, they had a prophecy to decode, so set to work quickly, dividing the books between them.

It had been maybe an hour or two in silence when Arthur called Merlin over, pointing to a page in a book called _Fact or Fiction: the round table. _"Look," the King said, a page about Sir Gwaine resting open on his lap, "listen to this, '_different spellings of the Knights name through time have lead to many translations or meanings, some of which being "the hawk of the plain" or more commonly, "the hawk of may"_' The hawk of may, Merlin! It's Gwaine." Arthur's face broke into a smile, thrilled at the prospect of possibly seeing one of his Knights again. Even Merlin's lips curled into a slow grin, thinking of his dear old friend. It seemed he was finally getting his reward for years of being alone; he would soon be surrounded by friends from days gone by. He now sat on the leg of Arthur's chair delicately. "Gwaine" he said, mind reeling. "So the 'hawk of May' from our prophecy is Gwaine. All of the other things, they must refer to people we knew! Let's see-" Moving quickly, Merlin took the envelope from Arthur studying it in the new light. "What could the others mean?"

"The 'darkness' is obviously Morgana" Arthur guessed, not knowing any other enemy who could pose such a threat. At this, both men's shoulders sagged – neither wanted to face the priestess again. "Yes," said Merlin sadly, "I fear you are right. But what about the others, it can't be all bad news." He looked thoughtfully at the remaining lines for a moment. "The 'tree of a man' could be Percival" he said.

"Yes!" Arthur was enthusiastic, but one line in particular caught his eye. He nervously continued, "do you – do you think 'the one most loved' could be Guinevere?" Arthur wanted it so much to be her, for he had missed her constantly, like an ache in his chest he carried around with him every day. Seeing this desperation, Merlin tried to smile for his King, "I hope so." It would be good to see Guinevere again, for he felt that he had never really apologised to her. Plus, he had missed her kindness terribly, her sweetness helping make a day brighter on many occasions.

"So what now?" Arthur asked. It seemed that the riddle was unscrambled, but they still had no idea how to find their friends. This stumped even Merlin. "I don't know" he admitted truthfully, "but I think our quest may begin where it ended – Avalon." The mere mention of the place brought dread to Merlin's guts, creeping through his bones like a chill. "Avalon" Arthur agreed. They both stood, unsure of how to continue. Should they go now? Or would the prophecy complete itself if they waited? Sometimes, destiny came to you. Other times, you have to go looking for it. This was the latter.

"There's something I have to show you first" Merlin left the room, Arthur following him until they reached a small backroom the King had never been into before. The handle clicked as they entered, as Arthur took a shocked intake of breath. It was like a treasure trove. Inside the room, with bare brick walls exposed, was every artifact, sword, and shield from Camelot's golden age. Shields' bearing many a Knights crest decorated the red brick walls, displayed proudly, barely showing their age as Merlin had cared for them so well. Against the far wall stood a rack with dozens of swords hanging from it, each with a name tag of brass above it. Armour, still gleaming from years hard labour polishing rested in corners, only a light covering of dust to combat the illusion that they had just stepped back a thousand years into Camelot's armoury. "Merlin," breathed the King, spinning slowly in a circle to take it all in, "How did you get all this?" He stopped spinning to face Merlin, who had waited near the door with a thinly veiled joy on his face.

"With great difficulty" looking as he used to when Arthur praised him: awkward but proud, he continued "After I heard of Camelot's demise. . . I just couldn't bear the thought of it all being lost. I travelled back to Camelot to find it in ruin, being pillaged by a new invader. I used my magic; froze the army so that I would get a chance to walk through the citadel a final time." He paused, eyes averted and gleaming in memory. "There were too many memories, good ones, there to let it fade without saying goodbye. I just couldn't, let it all go, not this time. I couldn't" Breaking, the Warlock's voice cracked too much for him to continue. It had been horrible, to walk through the walls of his former home and see it falling, fading away from him like everything else had. He saw ghosts at every point, memories that haunted him. He couldn't bear to leave it completely – to be alone. With nothing left at all. "It's okay now" Arthur rested a comforting hand on his old servants elbow, and the boy looked up, shaking his head as if to clear it of dark thoughts. But the King noticed the clenching of Merlin's fists as the man struggled within himself. "I took what I could: the Knight's swords, armour, artifacts of importance from the vaults. I couldn't take it all, but I could make sure that at least some part of Camelot survived – I had to."

"Thank you for doing that" The King was genuine, pleased beyond words at being able to find some piece of the world he knew amidst the confusion and noise of this age. Merlin, bobbing his head, wandered over to the rack of swords. He had secretly stored Excalibur amongst them the night before, for fear of Arthur brandishing it at the shopping centre, but pulled it free now to return it to its rightful owner, knowing it may be needed before long. The King accepted it without words, so immediately Merlin carried on down the rack till he reached the name he was searching for. "Sir Gwaine," he read out the label hanging above the sword, unsheathing it, "I think it is time we gave this back to our friend."

Arthur smiled. "You kept them all this time?"

"I hoped that one day, they would be needed once more. I always hoped they would all come back."

"Then it is time your dreams were reality." Together, Merlin carrying Gwaine's sword, they left the room. Out in the cold light of day, they set off, side by side, down the road towards the horizon. "To Avalon?" Merlin asked, feeling his breath catch in anticipation.

"To Avalon."


	4. Swing Life Away

Swing Life Away

Glastonbury Tor was always a place wrought in myth to the people of England. The stone, set upon a hill that seemed ever green and full of life, was a constant guardian of what was once Avalon. It was viewed as an oddity, a place to visit for those who believed in stories told over campfires: of days of old, daring knights valiantly riding to battle and the spirits wandering the land, waiting for their call home. It attracted many tourists, people who saw the world with wonder and a spark of magic of a different kind. It stayed, ruined but still standing, until the Earth itself was gone; in all that time, the stories never died. They were not forgotten in a thousand years, or a thousand more, they were the heart of this land forever more.

* * *

So it was apprehensively that Merlin and Arthur approached the ancient site, unsure how this would play out, so unable to strategise for it. They thought they had figured out the prophecy to some extent; that it was a friend awaiting them at Avalon, but both had seen enough hard times to expect some degree of danger. It is not death people fear, but the unknown. The boys were walking straight into one huge unknown. But this time, Merlin realized, with a slow smile which grew on his face, he was not walking into the unknown alone.

Reaching the stone, after a long but steady walk, they came to a halt at Glastonbury Tor – or Avalon, as they knew it. It rose from the ground, looming over them. Pausing awkwardly at the bottom, neither entirely sure what to do, the two boys waited for something to break the silence. Merlin tentatively held out a hand, meeting the cold stone with his fingertips, brushing them slowly over it with a humbled expression. "If only we had reached this place all those years ago," he mumbled softly. Maybe things would have been different that way. "It matters not now," Arthur said, concerned, "we need to focus on the present. Is there anything here about the prophecy?"

"I'm not sure, we should split up – you go that way, I'll go this – look around the stone. Shout me if you find anything!"Merlin wandered off, round the right of the stone and out of view. Arthur stood for a second, face drawing into a familiar expression of confused aggravation. "Merlin!" He shouted after a few seconds, loud enough for half of England to hear. The boy's head popped back from around the stone, "Yes?"

"I'm the King – I make the decisions" Arthur said, straightening his back and lifting his chin a fraction higher.

"Oh," Merlin sighed, walking back to stand in front of Arthur patiently, a thinly veiled grin itching to crack on his face, "so then my lord – what's the plan?"

The King now too was suppressing a smile, speaking waveringly, "we check the stone for signs, splitting up of course, you go that way," He pointed in the opposite direction Merlin had walked before, just to irritate the warlock, "I'll go this." He was walking off as he called back over his shoulder "call me if you find anything!"

"Will do, sire" Merlin grumbled sarcastically, but he was biting his lip to hold back a chuckle.

* * *

Merlin was wandering around the stone's huge base, scanning the grass for anything interesting. His eyes also looked outwards, skimming the horizon for marks, lights – anything to help them. He could hear Arthur nearby, the Kings heavy tread somewhat softer without all the armour to weigh him down, but the boy had keen ears; he knew Arthur was just the other side of the rock. It was as he paused to listen for this, head angled towards the aging stone, when he saw something carved into its base. Forehead creased, Merlin crouched to study it closer. He knew that it could just be some pointless graffiti done by delinquent youths but it seemed to draw him in, like a magnetic pull he couldn't resist.

Closer, he could see now that this was no mere graffiti, but something of more intricate, and ancient, design. He was leaning into the wall, eyes squinted in concentration as the world faded around him, blurring into nothing. The writing was cracked, weathered with age and barely readable but with time and a little patience, Merlin was able to decipher it. It was written in an old language no men's tongues would know now, but he was snapped back to time sitting in his tiny room in Camelot pouring over Gaius' book of magic, eager to learn everything, so in awe; he knew this language well. What he did not know, however, was the mark scribed into the next stone along. It looked to be the same age as the writing, but it was not in any language he knew. It could be completely unrelated, he told himself, but he didn't quite believe it.

The design was relatively simple: a long sword, 'binded' by a set of three interlacing crosses that were cutting over the sword, each ending with either a rose or a leaf. Intrigued, Merlin extended a hand to touch over the rune, but pulled it immediately away: underneath his skin, the stone pulsed, a flash of warmth and energy, like it was alive. "What is it?" Merlin, having missed Arthur's approach, flinched again, sighing with relief when he saw it was only his friend.

"There is . . . something powerful here" the Warlock mused slowly, "something alive" he finished. Arthur looked troubled.

"Is it dangerous?"

"No, I don't think so" Merlin leaned back on his heels, "But I could be wrong."

"What are those marks?" the King asked, gesturing towards the words scrawled into the stone.

"It is the language of the old religion" Merlin answered, "but I don't know what this is" he pointed at the sword.

"Can you read it?" the King asked.

"Of course," Merlin replied, "this language is written into my bones."

"What does it say?"

"It's a spell. I don't know what it will do"

"Tell me" Arthur pleaded, simply. If they were going to defeat this prophecy, it seemed this was the only way forward.

"In the common tongue, it says: 'to go forward, you must think back. Speak your name and enter.'" Merlin made a confused face as he read it out, mirrored by Arthur. "Why does everyone speak in riddles?" the King shrugged, "I'll try it then."

"No," Merlin interrupted, springing lightly to his feet to hold his friend back, "It could be dangerous, let me do it."

"Well if its danger, you're not going to be much use" Arthur sneered out of habit.

"I can protect myself better than you can, Arthur. You are out of practice – you haven't used a sword in a thousand years!" Merlin protested, and the King, choosing to trust in Merlin's 'gifts', stood back. "Besides," the Warlock continued in a quieter tone, "I couldn't bear to lose you again now."

That silenced Arthur, who sharply glanced at his friend, eyes full of affection. The young boy kept his eyes averted. "Okay then: let's see what you got" Merlin said, facing the stone. He spoke the spell to begin the process, the one above the riddle, calmly. "I am Merlin, son of Balinor. May I enter?"

They waited, but nothing except an eerie silence met them. Shaking his head, Merlin tried again, this time raising a hand as he spoke; pushing it forward as he spoke his name. Again, nothing changed. "Maybe this door is not for you, my friend" Arthur said, casually approaching the stone himself, "Can I try?"

"How? You can't read the inscription to speak the spell."

"Then you say it – I'll just speak my name"

"Arthur, I don't think-"

"Just try it" The King snapped, regretting the harsh tone immediately. Knowing it would not work, but obeying his orders anyway, Merlin spoke the spell. "Arthur Pendragon." When nothing happened, Merlin had just opened his mouth to make the obligatory 'I-told-you-so' comment when Arthur interrupted "don't. Just don't."

Smirking, Merlin started to pace in front of the rock in frustration. This was the place, they could be sure of that now – but how on earth did they get in? _To go forward, you must think back – think back. _Merlin grinned. "I've got it" he proclaimed, once again kneeling at the stone's foot. Placing a hand over the rune; feeling its gentle humming beneath his finger tips, he spoke the spell again with eyes tightly shut in concentration. "Emrys" he concluded, sure of himself this time. As his eyes were orbed with light, identical light shone from the lines of the rune. He stood back as it glowed for a minute, before sinking back into the stone. A whole section of rock went with it, leaving an open door into the stone itself. "Anything to do with magic – they would have known me as Emrys," the Warlock explained, "I had to 'think back' to my old name."

Arthur looked at his old friend strangely as Merlin headed through the door, a slow smile spreading across his lips aimed at the boy's retreating back, "you prat" he said, so Merlin couldn't hear.

* * *

Standing in a passageway so dark they could not even see each other, despite being only a few feet apart, Merlin and Arthur wondered what to do. The stone had replaced itself once they had entered, leaving them with no idea what lay ahead, and no way back. "Arthur," Merlin whispered, "are you there?"

"Of course I am!" The reply came from closer than he was expecting, causing Merlin to jump almost out of his skin, knocking into the King as he did. "Merlin!" Arthur roared, grabbing Merlin by the arm so they didn't get separated, "I knew you were an idiot, but after a thousand years I had hoped you might not be such a girl - stay still!" Arthur kept a firm grip on his friends arm, catching him as he tripped.

"Sorry!" whispered back the boy. Arthur rolled his eyes, although no one could see.

"We need some light in here" the King said, "Is there anything you can do?" At this, Merlin's breath caught in his throat: Arthur, asking him to do magic? In Camelot, it had been a moment he'd thought would never happen.

"Leoht" he commanded, careful to mask his expression before he cast the spell. A sphere of light was conjured in his palm, casting away the shadows and giving them a glimpse of their surroundings. "Thank you" Arthur said, eyeing the orb with respect.

Merlin shrugged, "It's nothing."

In front of them stretched a long, grey corridor, a biting breeze flowing through. Glad of his 'hoodie' to protect him from the cold, Arthur nodded "you better go first, so we can see." Merlin started forwards down the tunnel, hand held in front of him, wondering what awaited them at the end. After maybe ten minutes walking down a steadily sloping path, which seemed impossible since the stone could not have been so wide, a glow could be seen at the end of the path, faintly at first but growing brighter with every step. As they reached an archway, Arthur moved in front of Merlin, shielding his friend and drawing his sword out of habit. Hesitantly, they entered the room. It was circular, held up by a series of pillars, richly decorated with tapestries of vibrant colour. Looking closer, Arthur could see that these tapestries showed scenes familiar to him: moments from his life; Camelot; even Merlin, who stood taller than he did now; he looked so powerful.

Arthur had never seen Merlin look this way, so turned to his friend now to see him in a new light but he was distracted by the look on the boy's face. Merlin had come to an abrupt halt just inside the archway, mouth open in shock and tears glistening in his eyes. He did not look at his King, but to the far end of the room. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost" Arthur said, standing back next to his friend. When he followed the Warlocks eye line to see what he thought was an empty room, he started when he noticed a girl standing before them: she wore a simple grey dress that blended in to the walls, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders, looking so pale in the low light. "You," The King began, facing her, "You visited me." The girl paid him no attention. Never once blinking, her eyes were solely on Merlin: but they were soft, loving, the way one might look at a very old friend. Merlin still had not acknowledged the King's words either, staring at her; taking in every part of her, drinking her with his eyes that swam with tears and memories, entranced somehow.

Eventually, after a few moments lost silence, Merlin managed to choke out the name rising up in his throat like an uncontainable song, "Freya" he breathed. The girl nodded, hands nervously entwined, "It's been such a long time, Merlin."

"Is it – is it really you?" the Warlock asked, striding forward into the room's light but stopping, as if physically restrained, just in from of Freya with a hand outstretched, like he was scared to touch her and find she was just a mirage: an illusion. He stopped himself because he could not bear to have his heart broken again. Voice cracked with emotion, "Are you really there?"

"I'm here" she replied, taking his outward hand and holding it to her face, against her cheek. His thumb clumsily brushed her jaw, her face cold, but solid. _Really there._ "It's me."

"Freya," he repeated, bringing his other hand to cup her face, "I've missed you so much." He was speaking directly to her now, close to her face as he held it between his hands, as she held her own hand over his, the other one holding his wrist. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, bittersweet and beautiful. "And I you" with this, she pulled him forwards into a tight embrace, a hug a thousand years in the making. Merlin wrapped his arms tightly around her small frame, pressing her closer to him; her chin rested on his collarbone as he gently stroked her hair. "I was worried I'd never see you again" he whispered in her ear. The truth was a terrible thing sometimes; by admitting one of his darkest fears Merlin was slowly coming back to life. He had been living half-alive for so long.

Freya pulled back with a small smile, "I'm glad you did." Merlin grinned, a teeth showing, ecstatically joyous, grin.

"Me too" he told her. Keeping a hold on her elbow, as if to constantly reassure himself that she was there, Merlin turned back to Arthur.

"Yes, we have met before" Freya answered Arthur's original question to her, "the first time we met you were a Prince and I a monster" Merlin made to interrupt her here, to tell her she was never a monster, but she shook her head at him, so he let it go. "The second time, you were a King, and we were both spirits. Now, on this third meeting, you are once again a mortal man, and I am Freya: the guardian of Avalon." She said the last part a little louder, unable to keep the pride from her voice. To go from a beast to a guardian was a huge step; finally gave her a meaning, a reason to wait.

"King Arthur" he bowed slightly, causing both Merlin and Freya to giggle.

"Never thought I'd see that" she commented. "Now, the reason you both came here – the prophecy." Freya, stepping out of Merlin's touch, approached a structure: a basin, in the centre of the room. Carved from the stone, it rose from the ground like a tree, with a perfectly rounded basin rested atop the trunk. Merlin followed her to it; eventually all three of them stood facing each other, their faces reflected in the still water filling it. "It is water from deep within the crystal cave" she explained.

"It still stands?" asked Merlin.

"There is no power on this earth that could destroy such magic as the cave is made of."

"What's the crystal cave?" Arthur interrupted, the only one in the room with no knowledge of the monuments of the old religion.

"The source of all magic," Merlin answered, "when I left you before the battle of Camlaan that is where I went."

"And it is where you will soon return," Freya told him, "but for now your path lies another way. The prophecy, I assume you have figured some part of it out by now?"

"Yes, we know the first person we must find is Sir Gwaine" Arthur answered.

"But it is not here that you will find him. Here you will only find the path," Freya walked to the side of the room, producing two silver goblets from an alcove, "If you drink from the water, it will show you visions of where you must go." She set a goblet before each of them. "But such things – they come at a price. You may see things you do not wish to." Arthur and Merlin stood on opposite sides of the stand, with goblets before them and a decision that chose the fate of Albion before them: as they had done once before in the labyrinth of Gedref. "We've been here before" Arthur commented with a wry grin.

* * *

"Will you drink the water from the crystal cave?" asked Freya, standing between them. Merlin and Arthur looked only at each other now; searching for the other man's answer in their gaze. "We must," answered Merlin, "I will not fail another prophecy."

"Then I will, too" Arthur nodded. Thoughtfully, Freya filled both goblets carefully before setting them back on the basin.

"Be careful not to be deceived" was all the advice she offered. With a shrug, Arthur picked up his goblet, as did Merlin across the water. Lifting his glass in a mock toast, the King drained the cup of its contents. He didn't know what to expect, but surprisingly, the water tasted of, well, _water_. From the look on his face, Merlin was having similar thoughts. It was therefore all the more shocking when the visions started in a wave: images blazing in front of his eyes in brilliant flashes. Places he knew well – the forest, the abandoned castle where he founded the round table, the Fisher King's kingdom. Then came small snatches of conversation: Morgana screaming some spell in a language he could not comprehend; Gwaine obviously intoxicated, slurring out "my lord – come to join the reunion!"; Mordred looking downcast and uttering "I'm sorry"; then finally, and most hauntingly, Merlin standing in front of him, speaking clearly the words "I am going to die".

Snapped back to the present with a jolt, Arthur found himself staring at Merlin, who looked unaffected. "Did you see the same things as me?" he asked, but it seemed clear the answer was no. Merlin would not have just seen the prediction of his own death then looked so calm. "The ruins of Camelot? The cave where we hid when Morgana took over?" the boy quickly listed the places he'd seen.

Arthur shook his head, "no, it seems we have different information. Our journey shall be long; we'll have to go to many places" _And it will not end well_.

"But Gwaine – did you see him?"

"Yes!" Arthur said, happy of some good news, "he was drunk, but that's to be expected. The first place I saw was the forest – he must be there!"

"Then we have a place to begin," Merlin smiled, turning and grabbing Freya by the hands, "come with us" he begged.

"I cannot," she answered, "when there were no priestesses' of the old religion left, I was made guardian of Avalon – I can't leave this place." She said sadly, the pain evident on her face. "But I don't want to leave you again" Merlin breathed, still holding her hands desperately, not noticing the chilled expression that had not left the King's face. "You must" she replied, "but you will see me again, twice." He stared at her imploringly for a second, wishing something could be done to change her fate, not wanting to let her go. She tilted her head, tears brimming in her eyes, before forcefully pushing past him, walking towards Arthur. After she had left him, Merlin did not turn to watch her, but stood dazed and desolate.

Arthur, who had been waiting for an opportunity to do so, spoke openly to Freya when she approached. "I've wanted to say, ever since you said it earlier – you said you were a monster, and I wanted to say that if I ever made you feel that way then I am sorry. You are no monster, please believe me." He fumbled his words, embarrassed, guilt passing over his features.

Freya's kind face creased into a smile, "No, my lord. I was, but when you killed me-"

"-I killed you?!"

"You set me free!" Freya passionately said, placing a hand on the King's shoulder to pacify his shocked anger, "You are a good man, Arthur; a good King. You were protecting your kingdom and I don't blame you." She spoke more quietly now, so Merlin would not hear, "Just - look after him, please?" Arthur nodded firmly, even more sure that he would go to any length to protect his friend after the vision, "I promise." Glancing back to where Merlin stood, still unmoved and waiting for a chance to talk alone with Freya, Arthur called "I'll wait outside." Bowing to Freya, he made his way through the dark passage, back towards Avalon, head bursting with a thousand thoughts all concerning one thing: Merlin dying.

* * *

Once they were alone in the round room, Freya faced Merlin's turned back and spoke softly, "Merlin - Speak to me." The Warlock, with tears steadily coating his face, did not turn, or even speak, for fear of breaking. "You know, all these years in here I've been watching you," Freya said, half-smiling behind his back, "every day you walked past, for a thousand years – every day. I saw you change, Merlin. You started off so sad, and it killed me not to be able to help you. Then there were days when you looked happy, when things had gone right and you had hope – you still had good days. You grew, so much, you grew up and changed. All this time I was with you, seeing you change, I got to watch you walk by, every day, and those few minutes were the best parts of the day." Freya had grown louder, bitterly smiling, and laughed here, "but recently you were different – like you'd given up. You walked slower; smiled less." She sounded sad now, pity in her voice as in front of her, Merlin tried to hold himself together, but already his legs were shaking. "It was as if you were empty. There was always something missing, you knew that the whole time, but for the last few hundred years, you let it show. You were half-alive."

"But then today, finally, you came back to me – just like he'd come back to you." Freya was not angry as she said this, but strangely calm, "and I saw you and it was like the last few centuries never happened – you were so alive!" she was elated, loud, but a tear rolled down her cheek. "It was like you had come back to life – to see you smiling again, the joy and wonder of which you once saw the world back in your eyes. And I was so proud of you" she finished, stepping forward to be close to him once again, "don't be sad again, Merlin. I want you to always be happy – it was what I loved best about you."

"Then don't make me leave you here!" he suddenly cried, whirling round to face her, wanting to touch her; hold her again, but knowing that if he did, he may never let go. She wept openly now, as did he, head hanging limply. "You have waited all this time for him – not me" she told him, eyes shining, "so you can't abandon him now. This prophecy, all of it – they could all come back. The people you missed the most; I know you want to see them again."

"I wanted to see you again too"

"You have!" she smiled, reaching out to touch his face now, "and it was worth the world. You'll see me again, but for now you must go fulfill your destiny." Freya cupped his face, bringing it down and kissing him lightly on the forehead, "I believe in you."

Merlin stared at her, knowing in his head that she was right, no matter how much his heart yearned to stay. "I will see you again?" he asked, not sure if she was lying to satisfy him. "I promise you will" she replied.

"Then it will be the day I treasure the most, my lady" he said, dropping into a mock bow and laying a kiss on her hand.

"I'm no lady, Merlin. We both know that" but Freya still laughed anyway.

"You are the Lady of the Lake," Merlin protested, smiling so brightly now, "that's good enough for me." She laughed, and her smile was enough for the Warlock to know to keep going. Holding her hand for a second longer, he squeezed it, and then begrudgingly let it go. It fell to her side as she nodded her consent; Merlin took a final gaze at her lovely face, wanting it to be the last thing he saw of her, before sprinting off into the dark tunnel beyond, salted tears drying on his face.

* * *

All throughout the following few hours, Merlin was waiting for Arthur to make some comment about his drawn out, tear stained face or his affection towards Freya, but the biting comment never came. Knowing there it was far to travel to the forest, and that horses weren't exactly common travel anymore, the Warlock took them to a car rental shop. To do this, of course, he needed money. So a quick trip to the nearest ATM, a glide of the fingers and quiet spell later, they had a couple of hundred pounds and a rented car. Merlin hated to have to steal the money, but after a thousand years servitude to the country, surely he was owed that much? He was careful to 'borrow' from multiple accounts, never taking more than £10 from each one so it wouldn't be missed.

Then, in a content quiet, they drove towards the forest. Merlin had used his phone to Google it, and check it was still there, first – causing much interest from Arthur as to what the 'magic glowing box' was. The Warlock, despite still feeling quite dazed from the morning, had done his best to laugh. The King had also begged to be allowed to drive the 'metal horse' which Merlin had instantly rejected, picturing his friend sitting on the roof and kicking the doors, wondering why they weren't moving. He had learned to drive many years before, thinking it would be useful someday, but had never felt the need to own his own car. The closest he had got was a bashed up blue motorbike back in the 70's, when he had been young and, at the time, reckless. It had reminded him in fact, that the motorbike laid gathering dust in a storage unit. Making a mental note to collect it soon, in case he needed it, Merlin shifted the gearstick into drive, taking the nearest B road west.

Three hours they drove this way, down vast motorways, which flustered Arthur to see so much technology: then lonelier country tracks. It would've took them days by horse, a concept that made the King's head hurt even more than it already did, for he had been unable to shake a headache since the morning. He had mentioned this, and had been given small capsules called 'aspirin' to take by Merlin. But it was no ordinary headache: fuelled by terrible thoughts from the visions, and the King felt his head would soon explode; knowledge was the most powerful weapon of all. _Merlin couldn't die, could he? _He had lived for a thousand years without expiration. Besides, he was _immortal, _which meant he couldn't die. Reassuring himself as best he could with this thought, Arthur stole a sideways glance at his friend. Merlin was focused ahead, at a particularly rough back road. The King noticed that when they had stopped to get 'petrol' earlier, his friend had disappeared for five minutes, and when he returned the tears were washed from his face. Arthur had said that morning that Merlin looked like he had seen a ghost, not knowing how true the statement was, but it looked to have affected the boy more than he let on. Uncharacteristically quiet, Arthur didn't think he had ever seen Merlin as serious as he had been that morning, when he had emerged into the sunlight a while after Arthur with a shattered expression. The King, knowing his friend well, had let it slide. Still, it didn't stop him from worrying. It was clear that Merlin had feelings for that girl, a side Arthur didn't even know he had. Frowning, Arthur returned his gaze ahead, to the horizon. What lay ahead was as big a mystery as ever, and now it seemed even the past was a puzzle that needed solving. He was going to need some more painkillers.

* * *

The forest stood ahead of them, a sight they had seen many times before, though not in this age. It was one of the few things the same as it was before: untouched by developers, it remained a simple forest, open to the public; the only adaptation being the paved road leading to it. By the time they got there, the light was beginning to drain from the sky, a hazy orange burning the scene: a golden filter spilled across the lens of their vision.

"So what now?" Arthur asked while standing and stretching in the empty car park, "we wander around aimlessly in a forest until we bump into him?" Merlin was more irritated than he should be at Arthur's snark. "Looks like it! - Unless you have any better ideas," Merlin snapped, adding under his breath, "Which I severely doubt." He started briskly towards the green tree line, eager to clear his head with a peaceful walk. Arthur followed him, sighing as he did - his friend really wasn't okay. Still, they kept walking on.

After what may have been an hour, but could easily have been a lot more, since neither wore watches and the sun appeared to freeze in the sky to illuminate the forest, they came to a clearing at the heart of the forest. Merlin felt it immediately: the change in the atmosphere around him. The air seemed to crackle with electricity, the wind to sing, the trees themselves looked like sentinels guarding a post. "This place, it is frozen in time" he commented, smiling genuinely at Arthur, regretful of his earlier annoyance, "I think this is it."

"It's what?" came an all too familiar voice; from behind a weathered tree sprang a man, who gracefully leapt into the clearing, theatrical as ever, same boyish grin plastered all over his face. Merlin felt his own features re-arrange themselves in a heartbeat, as a grin of his own shone out, "Gwaine!" he cried. Two steps and he grabbed his friend in a fierce hug, which the knight reciprocated, swinging them. "Merlin," he laughed, "it's good to see you, too." Gwaine cheerfully clapped his old friend on the back, unbelieving.

"Here's trouble" the dry remark came from behind, as Arthur came forward, although he was smirking as he said it. The Knight laughed good-naturedly, embracing his King also in high spirits. The three men watched one another, revelling in the joy of the moment marked by golden light.

"So," asked Gwaine, straightening in a more serious manner, well, as serious as Gwaine got, at least. "What the hell is going on?"

"I can answer that" the voice sounded from the forest behind them, causing the whole group to flinch. It sounded familiar, like an echo, but none could place it exactly. "Who's there?" demanded Arthur, drawing his sword. Gwaine, upon finding no sword at his belt, looked annoyed, but this was stopped short by Merlin producing the knight's old sword from his belt and handing it to him. "Cheers" the knight said, flashing a smile, "knew I could count on you, Merlin."

Now, with two suspicious knights holding swords aloft, a figure emerged from the shadows, arms up to show he held no weapons. "I mean you no harm, young friends," it said, "I wish only to see my trio reformed."

"You!" cried Gwaine, standing ahead of the pack now, after recognizing the figure immediately. It was the dwarf from the bridge to the fisher kings kingdom, which all three had once crossed. "At least one of you remembers me," the man said, sounding disappointed, "but look at you! My trio – reunited at last!" He sounded cheery enough, and they saw him as no threat, so the knights slowly lowered their swords. "Once before you passed my bridge, and I gave each of you a title. I am Grettir, guardian of the bridge of the Fisher King's kingdom." The stranger, or 'Grettir' as he called himself, said.

"What do you mean 'your trio'?" Arthur inquired finally.

"Courage!" the short man announced, pointing at Arthur, "Strength!" he waved at Gwaine, "and finally – Magic!" the last gesture was at Merlin. "The three things you will need to succeed on this quest – the trio of Albion." A silence fell among them.

It was Gwaine who finally went on, "you said you knew why we were here."

"That I do: you must find each of the others who make up your league to protect this land, but the three of you needed to be together to find them. The King and the Warlock know where to go, and from here you must go out into this world to find your friends – and enemies." The Grettir explained, "But Courage and Strength will be dominant at this time, for Magic is weak." Merlin made a face at this, mirrored by Arthur. He opened his mouth to speak, but the King beat him to it. "_Sir_ Merlin," he exaggerated, "Is the bravest among us. He is in no way 'weak'." Arthur was angry at Merlin being torn down like this, even though he knew it was usually him to talk to the boy that way. The Grettir smirked, speaking now directly to Merlin, "The most powerful are the most lonely: you of all people know that, Emrys. After a thousand years, the loneliness has taken control; it is breaking you." His voice turned cold, "but if you wish to defeat this prophecy, you need to let the past go-"

"It is the past that keeps me fighting!" Merlin exclaimed, feeling the rush of anger that came in flashes rise. It was burning even more after the Grettir laughed, "You are wise, but you are wrong. You need to be fixed by the two parts of my trio before you can win." Above, the sky had grown dark, a brooding purple now melted into the clouds, like the onset of a storm. "Until then, you will remain weaker than ever and so very empty inside" mocked the little man. The knights began to protest, but it was Merlin who stood up for himself, yelling "ENOUGH! Hleap on bæc" he cast the spell with a splay of fingers pushing through the air; the dwarf was sent flying through the air, landing on the grass and not moving again. A shocked silence came from his two friends. "Come on" the Warlock bitterly commanded, heading towards the trees without waiting for a response. He was almost at the edge of the forest when they caught up with him, a bubbling rage settled in his gut.

"I knew it!" Gwaine said, running up behind him and placing a hand on Merlin's shoulder, "I knew you were a sorcerer the last time we met." The boy looked up at him, but Gwaine did not look angry or scared. To the knight it was simple: Merlin was the same person as before, and that was all that mattered to him. "I'm sorry that I never told you" he offered.

Gwaine shook his head, "you don't need to be."

"Really? You don't hate me for having magic?" the knight shook his head. "Or lying?" Another head shake, served with a smile, and all was fine between them.

The three men, the King being quiet as the grave, as he had been for most of the day, reached the car. With a quick explanation of the score, featuring many amusing facial expressions from Gwaine; they set out to their next stop, which they guessed to be the cave where they had hidden when Morgana had built an immortal army to conquer Camelot. "I tell you what, though" Gwaine's voice drifted from the backseat, "If you're still feeling guilty you can make up for it by getting me some food." Anger dissolved, Merlin couldn't help but laugh; even the King cracked a smile. Some things really would never change, and Gwaine's constant hunger was one of them. "I'm absolutely starving!"


	5. We were the floods when the fires came

We were the floods when the fires came

(But she held the torches high for you that day)

The road was long, seemingly never ending, but at least they were headed somewhere at last. It was a start; a spark, that was enough for now. The sun had set fully behind them, the stormy purple subsiding to a deeper, calmer blue speckled with a million stars. Merlin too felt more relaxed, content with watching the open road pass them by, Gwaine sleeping in the backseat and Arthur slumped against the window, eyes closed. _Peaceful,_ Merlin thought with a closed-lipped smile; he wondered how it felt. He had not slept so soundly in centuries. But he had to admit that there was a hidden joy in seeing them this way: so unguarded and vulnerable, trusting in him completely; definitely peaceful, he thought again. There was no better word to describe this feeling than peaceful.

A few hours later, when even the star's light had been quenched by the darkness gripping the night, the Warlock gave in and pulled into a service station, mainly deserted, to sleep for a few hours. It was about 4am, but Merlin knew that if he didn't at least try to rest, it would do him no good in the morning. The car ground to a halt, as steadily as he could manage, and then the hum of the engine died, leaving a silence around them. As the dashboard lights faded, the boy leant back into his seat rest and closed his heavy eyes, content in just sitting there until dawn if sleep would not find him. There were still many miles to go; the hope of old friendship being rekindled just upon the horizon, until Merlin would find some sleep. But that was okay, for the peace of this moment was enough. He just hoped it would last a while longer.

* * *

"Merlin?" Arthur spoke quietly, careful not to wake the gently snoring Gwaine, an hour or so later. Slicing the silence like a cold knife, his friend stirred in the seat behind him, but the King knew Merlin had not been sleeping. Arthur had woken when the car had pulled in an hour ago, but decided to wait, seeing if his friend would in fact sleep, before speaking. "Yeah?" came the reply, weary but not annoyed. Arthur sighed, sitting up and shifting to he leaned against the window, the coolness of the pane relieving him slightly, for his head still pounded. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"Nah," said Merlin, "You?"

"My dreams disturbed me" the King admitted, but kept back the information that the nightmare largely repeated the visions seen that day: of Merlin giving in to dying. "I'm sorry to hear that, sire" Merlin said, concerned.

"You don't have to call me that anymore"

"What?"

"'Sire' or 'my lord'" Arthur said, waving a non-committal hand through the air, "I'm not a King anymore."

"You are my King," Merlin protested, leaning forward to speak to his friend, to reassure him, "there may be a new leader of this land. But Albion? You are the only true leader of that: the once and future king."

"I'm not sure I deserve it."

Merlin laughed softly at this, "Deserve it? Neither you nor I have any say in that: it is who you are – your destiny" he leaned back with a smile.

"Thank you, Merlin." Arthur said, "I sometimes wish that I could see myself through your eyes, for you always saw something in me that I never could." Silence comfortably fell in the car again, before Arthur realized he had been sidetracked from the real reason he had spoken in the first place. "That girl. . ." he started, then paused awkwardly, unsure how to go on, "You and her . . .?"

"Yes" Merlin said, quietly but quickly, "Yes." Arthur nodded.

"Did you love her?" he asked. Merlin opened his mouth to speak, closing it a few times, struggling internally to put his feelings into words. "I still do," he eventually said, a distracted half-smile writing itself over his face as he stopped looking at Arthur; off into mid-distance instead, as if lost in memory. It had been so good to see her today, and Merlin felt privileged to have the chance to – how many people got to see their loved ones once they'd departed? It had hurt, yes, but it was a good kind of hurt. "We were going to run away: get a little place to live, some animals, grow a garden," the Warlock still had that lost smile on his face as he finished, "someplace near a lake."

"I'm sorry" Arthur apologized, and Merlin believed it was genuine.

"You don't need to be," he shrugged, "look at her. She gets to do something important – she's happy."

"And you? Are you happy?"

Merlin smiled hazily at his friend, "I think I'm learning to be."

The boys fell into a restless daze, neither sleeping exactly, but sitting in contemplative thoughts, lost to the world. The sun was rising in the east, merging the night into day, a perfect balance of hope and despair. As it gained height, light flooded the land; hope won out.

* * *

(The tree's roots)

"I'm not being rude, but for the world's most powerful sorcerer, this doesn't seem to be a very good 'car'" Gwaine said, head lolled out of the window like a dog as they tore down the motorway, "now _that_," he nodded at a huge SUV beside them, "Is a thing of beauty – why don't we go in that?"

"This is the best we could get!" Merlin protested, but he had to admit that he secretly loved their little car, however crap it may be, "and anyway, what's wrong with this car?" Both of the other Knights laughed.

"Well – there's nothing wrong with it exactly, but it's just not – good" Gwaine shrugged.

"There's nothing wrong with it!" Merlin yelled, causing more laughter at his expense as he nearly swerved off the road.

"The roof leaks" Arthur laughed, feet up on the dash and looking a lot more relaxed than yesterday.

"It's got character" Merlin said, quieter but irritated. The knights laughed as he pulled a face in the rear view mirror. The Warlock had really grown affectionate of the ancient old red Volkswagen, chipped paint and all. "Oh, _shut up_" Merlin sighed, giving in to the laughter bubbling up in his chest.

* * *

"The cave where we hid out when Morgana took over Camelot?" Arthur asked, as they exited the car, a few hours later after much driving and a repetitive droning of 'Are we there yet?' from Gwaine the entire time. "Are you sure?"

"It was where we first met Percival, remember?" Merlin said in response, grabbing some spare water bottles from the boot. He had pulled in at a corner shop on the way there, gathering any supplies while they had the chance. Fishing out some Nutri-Grain bars for snacks, he shut the boot with a click. "He came with Lancelot" Arthur nodded, remembering that day, "So you think it is him?"

"'The tree of a man'" Gwaine said, holding the envelope containing the hastily written prophecy in front of his face, "who else could it be but Percy?" In agreement, they locked up the car, heading out into yet another forest.

"It's called the forest of Dean now" Merlin told them as they followed a stone path into the trees, having decided to follow the set path until Merlin 'felt' something again. Or at least, that was the plan. "Camelot was near" Arthur said thoughtfully, looking east as if to imagine the great castle in the distance, eyes glazing over. Gwaine pulled a face at Merlin behind Arthur's back, as always, making light of the situation. "So was the tavern" he grinned.

After a while wandering along the path, Arthur growing more and more impatient with every turn, the three knights (a conversation about Merlin's knighthood had took place that morning, just to irritate Arthur) stumbled across the cave, after straying from the path. It looked slightly beaten up, but was still visible under a growth of a giant tree, its roots carved around the entrance, that almost concealed it: if they hadn't known to look for it, they wouldn't have noticed it at all. The cave had been left unexplored for decades now; maybe that was good, for things were stirring inside the cave, waking up into a new age. Arthur and Gwaine started cutting through these bushes and roots with their swords "for goodness sake, put those things away!" Merlin had yelled, glancing around for any pedestrians who could have seen the oddly-dressed, sword-wielding idiots in the forest, but luckily no one was around. The last thing he needed was for some dumb police to arrest them.

Walking confidently into the cave, flanked by Merlin and Gwaine, the King flashed back to the times of before, when the cave, and the men around him, were young. This cave, and what had led from here, had been his making. Arthur was distracted by an almighty yawn from the depths of the darkness ahead, followed by a familiar figure stumbling into a shaft of light. Sir Percival, tall and strong as ever, sent them a confused grin. "Welcome back" was all Arthur could think to say. Percival was most surprised to see his old friend Gwaine, losing his words and instead hugging his friend so hard the smaller knight was lifted off the ground. "Woah there, big fella," Gwaine had laughed, "I'm glad to see you too."

"I thought you were dead" Percival eventually choked out, devastation as fresh as the day his friend died clear.

"Well, I was. But that got boring so I thought I'd come back to haunt you" Gwaine joked, poking Percival playfully and wagging his fingers in the air. The other knight grinned. "But Percy," Gwaine went on, a more sincere smile on his face, "When I died – you were there for me, and I never got to say thank you."

"You don't need to." As the Knights hugged again, Merlin and Arthur shared a knowing look; their own story was similar; so they understood. Clapping Merlin on the back, the King greeted their newly returned friend, who was glad that Arthur too had come back to life. Merlin was content in watching them, for even though he was a knight now, he had never had a place within their group of noble men. But then a noise sounded behind him, and as he whirled around; a shape, moving so fast he had no time to react, knocked him down, pinning him to the floor. He let out a startled cry, as a claw cut into his shoulder, tearing his flesh agonisingly. The sound of swords being unsheathed echoed through the cave; in seconds the beast cried out in pain and released Merlin, who rolled out of its way, clutching his arm. Arthur was standing in front of the attacking animal, Excalibur held aloft, jabbing the grotesque form with his biting blade. The King ducked, and on queue Gwaine leapt over his back and on top of the creatures head, cleaving its head in a single stroke. As the beast died, a scream stolen from its lips, a faint shuffling of more coming could be heard in the cave's blackness. It was a pack of fearsome Wilddeoren and they were heading straight for them.

"Are you alright?" Arthur yelled to Merlin, who stood, wincing slightly, and nodded.

"We should get out of here" Gwaine said, eager not to encounter more of the foul-smelling beasts. They ran towards the cave's entrance, where Merlin stopped. "Go on," he told them, "I'll stop them"

"Just come with us!" Arthur shouted back.

"I can't let them get out, they could hurt somebody" Merlin explained, "Go." The boy span on his heel and disappeared back into the cave's gaping mouth, swallowed up instantly by the darkness within. He faced a pack of maybe seven Wilddeoren, steadily gaining on him. The Warlock was unafraid. "Ic þe bebiede þæt þu abifest nu!" he cried, expecting the earth around him to shake, but barely a stone was shifted. Shaking his head, confused as to why the earthquake was not obeying his magic, he tried again. "Ic þe bebiede þæt þu abifest nu!" he called again, louder and with more command in his tone, slamming a palm into the wall in an effort to begin the spell – or was it in frustration? When only a small shake, bringing down a few heavier rocks into the path of the Wilddeoren broke out, Merlin began to panic. They were almost upon him now, giving him only chance to shout "Ic þe bebie-" before the first beast hit him, sending him sprawling. On his back and defenceless, since his magic was failing him, Merlin thought he was done for as the first animal leapt. He squeezed his eyes shut, flinching, and waited for the pain; the blow to finally end it all. It did not come, in fact a much more welcome sound clattered above him: the sound of sword meeting monster gut. Eyes flying open, the young Warlock saw a face from long ago above his own "getting into trouble as usual?" it asked.

"Elyan!" Merlin cried happily.

The youngest of Arthur's knights stood above him, sword plunged into a Wilddeoren's gut. He pulled it free with effort, deftly slashing a second attacking beast as he acknowledged his friends greeting, "It's good to see you too, Merlin – but now really isn't the time," he paused, to twist his blade across another ones throat, shoving its corpse from him, "just run!"

"Good idea" with this, the pair ran across the cave floor, Merlin a little slower than his comrade, for he now carried a wound and a concussion, as the remaining few beasts retreated into the black belly of the cave. Reaching open air, Merlin led Elyan away from the cave, until he felt it was safe to stop. Doubling over, the Warlock groaned as he felt blood trickle down his chest. Falling into a rock, Merlin sat, catching his breath, and assessed his wounds. There was a light graze on his forehead from the second fall, but it was the shoulder wound that worried him: it was deep, curved like the claw was, not to mention the fact the beasts probably hosted a flagship of diseases. Grimacing as he shifted to hold the cut closed, slowing the flow of blood, Merlin glanced up at Elyan: to his surprise the young knight was watching him suspiciously. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"You are a sorcerer" was the response, a betrayed tone in the knight's voice. _Of course, _Merlin thought, _he died before they all found out, he never knew_. Looking as earnest as possible, the Warlock replied "Yes."

"And you used magic in Camelot?"

Another nod, "only ever to help people, to help Arthur"

"But it's illegal – you know that!" Elyan suddenly lifted his sword, pointing it at Merlin, whose eyes became so sad at this. "I do," he started, hands in the air, "but it's alright – Arthur knows now!" Merlin stood, he would not be afraid of who he was anymore. "I am your friend, Elyan. Come with me; the King, Percival, and Gwaine – they're all waiting." Merlin held out a hand to his old friend. He was hurt by the young knight's response, in all honestly. He had thought that the time of fear was over, but he remembered that not all lived to see the peace. Elyan studied him for a moment, taking in the man he once knew. Merlin looked honest as ever, but he had changed, that was definite. After a minute, Elyan lowered his sword slowly, finally returning it to his belt. "Okay." The young knight said, "Let's go find our friends." Sorcerer or not, he didn't think Merlin was a threat; he regretted doubting his friend. Merlin smiled back.

They had just broken the tree line when the first cheerful shouts met them, Gwaine and Percival speeding across the car park to enthusiastically greet Elyan, who visibly relaxed when he saw his friends. Merlin laughed at their joyful reunion, not bitter over the knight's suspicion and genuinely glad to see them looking so happy. Arthur strolled over at a more leisurely pace, looking like an annoyed dad with a group of excited three year olds who hadn't seen each other in a while. It was to Merlin that he spoke, while the three boys talked loudly nearby, "we were worried when you didn't meet us here."

"I'm sorry" Merlin said, "ran into some trouble – Elyan rescued me, you should go say hello." Eager not to discuss the failure of his magic, Merlin tried to get rid of Arthur, but it did not work, for the King noticed his injuries. "You're hurt," he said, concerned now, seeing the blood seeping through Merlin's two day old shirt, "what happened?"

Merlin shook his head quickly, attempting a faltering smile, "It's nothing. This happened when I was first attacked." Arthur was unconvinced, "then why did Elyan need to save you?" Merlin chose to ignore the question, digging the keys from his pocket and heading towards the car. "Is your magic not working?" Arthur called after him, causing the other knight's to uneasily fall quiet.

"It's nothing, really" Merlin said over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. The truth was there _was_ something seriously wrong with his magic for it not to work, and it scared him. Arthur looked troubled, then bit back the response formed in his mind 'was the Grettir right?' Instead, he turned brightly to Elyan, "It is good to see you, my friend." The King clasped arms with the young knight, who grinned keenly in response. A quick glance in Merlin's direction told him the Warlock was pre-occupied wrapping a gauze bandage around his injured shoulder, so Elyan spoke quietly to Arthur. "You know he is a sorcerer then? I was unsure what to do."

"There was no need to doubt him" Arthur reassured his young friend, "I found out he was a sorcerer a long time ago. I reacted the same way as you, at first," the King smiled wryly, "I feared and suspected him; forgot he was my friend. But then I found out all he has done, for me – for Camelot, there is no need to doubt him." Arthur paused, sending a final look in his former servant's direction before turning back to his Knights. "If there is any man I trust, it is him."

Back in the car and driving south, the round table was again being built: scraps of halves becoming a united whole once more. They were starting to grow back together again; perhaps it could still be the way it once was. After a short conversation about what they were dealing with, they were off, snacks devoured in a few seconds (mainly by one knight, we all know who). One step closer to success, the next point on the map decided, they raced the sun across the land, in pursuit of another miracle.

* * *

(The broken table)

"Where next?" asked a bored Gwaine, cracking open the window of the stifling car. They were pulled over in the hard shoulder, after a concussed Merlin had become dizzy, only stopping just in time to vomit at the roadside. The four knights remained in the sweltering car, its old air conditioning doing nothing against the May heat bearing down on them. "There is an abandoned castle in the south of this land, where we first found the round table" Arthur answered.

"I remember it well" said Elyan; "It is where we all became knights" They smiled at a fond memory.

"That is, of course, if we ever get there" Arthur grumbled, eyeing Merlin's hunched back with annoyance.

"He can't help it if he's injured" Gwaine reminded him, defending their friend.

"Yes," said Arthur, tight lipped, "but when he refuses help and causes his own injuries, then we need to have a talk."

"You think this is his fault?"

"I think he is not being honest with us," Arthur turned around in his seat to face Elyan, "In the cave, when he was trying to do magic, what happened?"

Elyan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sandwiched between Gwaine and Percival, "I don't know enough about magic to be sure, but he tried a spell a few times; it looked like it wasn't working" he told Arthur truthfully.

"There is something wrong with his magic that he's not telling us" the King said to no one in particular, "maybe the Grettir was right about him being weakened."

"Well, after all he's been through, I say we give him a break," Gwaine sighed, slightly annoyed, "If there is a serious problem he knows we're here for him. Leave him be, for now." With this, the knight slipped out of the car, leaving the King and his men inside. Shaking his head at their unkind words and doubts of someone who had never let them down, he approached the shivering Merlin, placing a hand on his good shoulder. "Are you going to be okay?" The boy started, then straightened up and smiled appreciatively.

"I'll be fine," Merlin nodded, "It's just a mild concussion."

"But if you need to stop for a while, get your head together, that's okay"

Merlin laughed, "Yeah? Try telling them that." He gestured towards the knights waiting in the car, who looked away quickly. "They blame me for getting hurt, don't they?" the warlock asked, but he knew the answer. Gwaine sighed, rubbing a hand through the back of his hair, "Is there anything you want to tell me, Merlin?"

"No," suddenly stretching, Merlin started to head back to the car, sending what he hoped was a normal smile at his friend, "Nothing at all."

"_Merlin_" The Warlock turned back, stopped short. "I don't know about the others, but magic or not, you've still got me" Gwaine was serious, for him. He smiled, but it was more sincere than usual, openly honest instead of being guarded. One side of Merlin's mouth twitched, awkwardly nodding, the Warlock turned again and jumped into the car.

* * *

An hour and a half; three short stops for Merlin to dash to the nearest bushes later, they arrived at the ruins of an old castle all five of them recognised. Taking another two tablets in hopes to fight past another wave of nausea, Merlin closed his eyes with a sigh, wishing he could just get some sleep for once. "Come on!" soon distracted by Arthur's shout, the Warlock heaved himself forwards, round to the front of the car where the others waited for him. "Are you sure you want to come? You could wait in the car if you're still not feeling well" Percival offered kindly, to which the others nodded in agreement. Merlin forced himself to smile brightly, shaking his head. "If I stay, who'd look after all of you? You wouldn't last five minutes without me" he said, pushing ahead of them and straight towards the castle in the distance. He didn't see the significant looks of the knight's behind him, or the worry lining their faces.

This time, what they were looking for took hours to find. There wasn't enough of the original castle left to find their way around, so they were left wandering over crumbling walls and into damp underground rooms, with only a few strangling tourists there. The castle stood on the coastline, perched atop a cliff, mounded into a grassy hill next to a steep fall of rocks to a beach. The beach was lonely, dotted with many boulders jutting into the sea, hundreds of feet underneath the castle. Into the cliff was set many caves, deep by the looks of it, like gashes into the hill's underside. One cave in particular caught Merlin's eye, on the opposing side of the beach: like it was guarding the castle in its view. He zoned out looking at it, as if it were drawing him in, the sound of the sea flooding his ears. He took a step forwards, heading towards a winding path to the beach. If he could just get to that cave, he had a feeling something great would happen, something – "Merlin!" The spell broken, Merlin's gaze was averted by the King's shout, "stop sightseeing and start searching" Arthur commanded, shaking his head and walking confidently off. All thoughts of the strange cave driven from his mind, Merlin distractedly moved to the other side of the ruins and began searching for signs of magic.

By the time anything happened at all, they had been there for four hours; there was only an hour left until sunset. It was Arthur, walking along the far wall with Percival in tow, who spotted something unusual. "Go get Merlin please" he said, and the tall knight nodded before hurrying off. Standing below a high archway, Arthur studied the middle stone of the arch intently. It bore the same rune as the stone at Glastonbury Tor: the sword binded by roses. He was sure of it.

"What is it?" After a few hours calm walking around the ruins, Merlin's head was feeling a lot better. His skin had lost the sheen of sweat and paleness, returning to a healthier shade; even his shoulder wound had cauterised, no longer bleeding through the bandage. He felt a lot more normal, convincing himself that the fault of his magic this morning had just been a fluke, that everything was okay. Still, shreds of doubt hung in his bones like a weight dragging him down. He ran swiftly now, jumping over a low wall with ease to reach Arthur's side. The King pointed above their heads, "Is that the same rune as the one at Avalon?" he asked, wanting to confirm his suspicions. Merlin squinted at it for a second, "Maybe, It's too far to be certain."

"But it could be?"

"I think so" Merlin said, "Do you want me to try the spell?"

"Do you think you're up to it?" Arthur asked, eyebrows elated; still a tiny bit worried about his friend's health after the fight earlier. "I'm fine, Arthur. I'm not an idiot" Merlin rolled his eyes, preparing to try using magic again.

"That's debatable" the King muttered stiffly.

Glaring at the archway and uttering the spell quietly, Merlin's eyes flashed with bright light, mimicked by the rune carved into the stone. The entire archway began to glow faintly, strengthening until it was consumed by a dazzling light, golden and shining upon the earth. From the gateway, the silhouettes of two figures could be seen approaching, blurred at first but becoming more solid as they got nearer, until they stood on just the other side of the veil: smiling faces translucent, lacking colour or life, waiting to be released. Arthur felt his heart stop in his chest, frozen in time. "Guinevere" he said, barely a breath, casting a cloud of pale white smoke in the cold air. She nodded, dark hair bouncing across her shoulders, as she pressed a hand to her trembling lips. Gwen mouthed her husband's name, but her voice was stolen by the veil, silencing her. It was like she was trapped behind glass, they could see her but not hear her, like an echo of a life.

The King silently extended a hand to the veil, pressing his palm against the light. He could not reach through it: the gateway was not fully open, and nothing could pass it. On the other side, Guinevere did the same, bringing her palm up to his, so they stood on opposite sides, not quite touching, but united. Arthur could see her dainty, slender fingers perfectly aligned with his, but he could not feel their warmth. She was so close, but he could not touch her. He said her name again, more of a plea now: inside he felt his blood flow cold, his fragile state of mind snapping. "Why can't see get through?" he begged, twisting to see Merlin, who stood with a dumbstruck look on his face. The boy shook his head, not taking his eyes off his old friend Gwen, "I-I don't know." _Gwen_. Merlin couldn't quite believe his eyes; his first friend at Camelot, who remained his friend even when she was Queen; he was nothing but a servant to her, but still she was his friend, never loosing the person she was. "Could it be the spell?" Arthur asked, but something had changed in his voice, it was colder than before, with a rage settled into it, "Is this because you are weak?"

Merlin blinked, confused as to his friends sudden apathy. "I've told you, there is nothing wrong with me" he raised his tone, a frustration building in his words. If you are told enough times that you are weak, or you are nothing, eventually you will start to believe it. Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped by a tapping on the glass behind him. Guinevere stood there, the light surrounding her like a golden halo, sympathetically gazing in their direction. She shook her head softly; eyes trained on her husband, and said three little words to break the tension. They might not be able to hear her, but it was obvious what she said: 'he's your friend'. Arthur, closing his eyes, was astounded even now by the kindness shown by his beloved wife, who knew that he would regret being cruel to his friend, and saved him. He felt the anger dissolve inside him, a guilty expression replacing the one of suppressed rage on his face. He faced Merlin yet again, but not in anger this time, for his shoulders dropped and his eyes were misty. "I'm sorry for doubting you. But she's just so close-" he broke off, choked, as the first tear slipped down his cheek, "Please, please help her."

Merlin, who too was grateful of Gwen's intervention, not wanting to fight again, didn't know what to say. Arthur looked so sad, like the heart had been ripped from him. But after all that had been said, the Warlock had begun to doubt himself. Could it be that his magic was not strong enough to break through the veil? The idea that Guinevere would remain a prisoner because he had not the strength to free her terrified him. He felt his own face dampen with tears, of relief and fear. He shook his head, doubt of his own powers rising. "I could try the spell again" he said evenly, trying to keep the shaking from his voice. The King nodded, seeing the doubt in Merlin's won eyes now, so instead faced his Queen once again. He took in her honest brown eyes, the simple smile curving her lips at seeing him again, the sweep of her dress as it reached the floor. She was perfect to him; no sweeter sight could have graced his ancient eyes.

Trying the spell again, Merlin prayed that some magic was left in him, but the doubt crossed into his being, casting a shadow upon his heart, and the spell did not work. "Please," he begged, whispering the spell again. Nothing changed because he had not changed: he still doubted his ability. "_No_" he mumbled. Another tear falling, the Warlock despaired for the fate of his friends, who would be equally broken if he failed. The knights had flocked around, standing in a semi-circle around them, circling the archway brimming with light. Merlin closed his eyes, he couldn't bear to see the sight before him anymore; it made his heart ache.

In the darkness behind his closed eyelids, a spark flickered inside the black recesses of his mind, barely an ember at first, but growing into an inferno. He remembered, even though it hurt. He remembered his father's words. Because despite his denial, and the hope growing bolder every day: he was broken. By time, by heartbreak, by destiny – he had been broken. But not irreplaceably - never that. However to grow into his full strength, the tower of power he once stood, he had to forgive; let go of his past. And to let go of the past, he had to first remember it. It was the first small step into the light after years of living in darkness, but it was a start. So, he remembered the words burnt into his soul, and said the spell a final time – but this time, daring to believe. He spoke the spell, calling out with all he had left. _"You are a son of the earth," _he remembered; below him, the ground trembled with forgotten power, _"the sea"_ the distant waves crashed with a new fierceness on the rocks far below them,_ "the sky"_above, the sky cracked with lightning, illuminating the scene, striking the ground and completing the circle_. "You are magic itself" _Merlin opened his eyes, flashing with a light, a magic, brighter than before. Magic struck the place, that lonely castle ruin in a stormy corner of Britain, a lost relic in a time of dormant magic, and power returned to the old Warlock's heart.

In front of him, the veil cracked, shattering into a million pieces as it fell with a crash. Arthur and Guinevere's hands were suddenly touching, grabbing each other with interlaced fingers and warmth of love. They stared at this for a moment, no longer, before they collided in a hug. The King swept his Queen up into his arms, off her feet, clinging to her so tightly they seemed to merge into one as he span around. To the two of them, together at last, nothing in the world mattered more. Guinevere laughed, "I am so happy I got to see you again" she whispered into his ear, tickling it and provoking a laugh of his own.

"I would never leave without you" he replied, but as he said so, a great sadness consumed him: isn't that exactly what Merlin had done just yesterday? Left the one he loved dearest behind – to help him? Feeling even more guilt at his previous anger, he set Gwen down on her feet, and she beamed at him, but her face changed as she caught a glimpse of a figure behind him. "Elyan!" she breathed, elated; running straight into her brother's open arms, "Is it really you?"

"It's me, Gwen" her brother smiled contently, straining to keep his own tears of joy in check. Gwen pulled back, suddenly looking sickened. "I'm so sorry," she gushed, tears formed, "I killed you."

"No," Elyan shook his head, taking her by the shoulders, "Never, dear sister. Morgana did." He reassured her, and she hugged him again.

"Nice to know my dear friends forgot about me so easily," the second figure wandered from the archway, grinning at them all.

"Sir Leon!" the King cried, his joy at seeing his wife spilling out into his actions as he clasped arms with his friend enthusiastically, as did the other knights as they met with their old leader, for Leon had been the one to assume leadership of the knight's after Arthur's death.

As the Knights were cheerful in their long-awaited reunion, thinking all the lost men were found and now among them, the Queen of Camelot approached someone standing on the edge of the fray. "Merlin," she said warmly, and the boy started, turning to her with a smile made to look cheerful, but she could see it was guarded. She knew why, and reaching out to touch his arm, she confronted him, "are you are my friend, Merlin?"

"What?" the Warlock pulled a face of shock, but still did not quite meet her eye, "of course I am!"

"And you trust me?"

"Always"

Taking his arm in a way that forced him to look at her; not at the ground, Gwen said "then you have to believe me when I say you have been forgiven a long time ago."

The Warlock sighed, "No, don't."

"What happened to Arthur wasn't your fault" The Queen told him, wishing he would understand. She could see that even now he blamed himself, and probably had done for a long time. "It was. I was supposed to protect him, you trusted me to save him," Merlin's voice was filled with self-hatred now, but it got very quiet very quickly as he dropped eye contact again "and I let you down."

"No, Merlin – you tried, and fought, for him more than any here today. I forgave you a long time ago" Gwen honestly held nothing but love for the boy, now a man, who had been a good friend. "I don't deserve it" he muttered miserably, for it was Gwen who he felt the most guilt towards. Out of everyone, it was her who loved Arthur as much as he did, and of all of them, it was her he let down most. "No, you deserve more than that. You deserve to be happy, oh-" Breaking off, Guinevere pulled her old friend into an embrace, wrapping her arms around him. He stiffened, then tightened his own arms around her, whispering hoarsely "Thank you."

"No, thank you. You saved me today – saved us all. Please, Merlin, just try. I can forgive you so easily, but that means nothing if you don't forgive yourself." The words stuck with Merlin, strangely. He leaned back, with a nod and watery smile. Stroking his cheek affectionately, Guinevere smiled back before heading back over to Arthur's side. Merlin stood, still as a rock, for a while before they noticed his absence. The sky above had grown dark, sunset being missed by them all in the tense events of the evening. The knights had built a small fire on the hillside, within the ruins, ready to camp there tonight.

He heard someone approaching from behind, and a hand clapped his shoulder. It was Percival. "Come on, everyone's waiting" the knight gestured with his head towards the fireside, a few 'rooms' along in the ruins. Merlin nodded and made to follow him, but stopped. "Percival," he said; the knight turned, "Thank you. I realized I never said it before, but for what you did back in Camelot, bringing magic back and all – just, thank you." Merlin spoke quickly, but the gratitude was heartfelt.

Percival shook his head, "It was your story that did it, Merlin, I just told it" the lumbering man said.

"But without you doing that, Albion would never have been truly right- it needed the magic" Merlin said, "and when I couldn't do that, you did, and I am in your debt."

"I was already in yours" the huge Knight grinned, laughing as he pulled Merlin forward, arm swung around his shoulder, the two of them walking back to the campfire, "Let's call it even."

* * *

The night was long in the best of ways: with old friends laughing and stories to be told, long forgotten. Their laughter carried on the wind long into the early hours of the morning, bringing with its cheerful tones new hope: perhaps prophecies were beatable after all. It was by chance that Merlin saw a light flickering far below, coming from within the cave. Tunnel vision consumed his sight again, becoming solely focused on that light. He didn't even realize he was moving until he felt an arm grab his own, stopping his path. "What is it?" Gwaine asked, face inches away and intrigued, "We were shouting you, but it was like you couldn't hear us."

"The cave" Merlin stuttered, "Look, there's a light in that cave." The other knights rose, joining them, and squinted to see Merlin's phantom 'light' in the dullness of the night. "I can't see anything" Leon said, struggling to find a clue, some evidence, of light penetrating the cave in the distance. "There's nothing there, Merlin" Arthur said, coming to his friend's side, who was still gazing at the glow, unable to break eye contact for fear of losing it. "There is – can't you see it?" the boy whispered, "We should go see what it is." Finally breaking gaze, Merlin looked instead at his King, begging with his eyes for help. There was something in that cave – he could feel it. Arthur sighed, "It's not safe: we could fall and break our necks just getting down there in this light. Wait until the morning, we'll check then" Seeing the uncertain look on Merlin's face, Arthur continued, "I promise." Reluctantly nodding, Merlin returned with them to the fireside, looking over his shoulder as he did so – the light was still there, waiting.

* * *

(The Dark Queen in the gloom)

Unknown to them, the knights assembled at the fire were being watched from far away. A solitary figure, obscured in the low light to merely a blur, a shadow, watched their every move in a pool of water. It smiled grimly, teasingly, ready for the day ahead. "Don't worry, Emrys" Morgana soothed to no one, "you'll find out exactly what's within the cave tomorrow. I'll look forward to seeing you then." With a sweep of her black dress, the last Priestess of the old religion swept from the attic she inhabited, out into the night to seek revenge. With a heart as cold as stone, she left no trace where she walked, knowing she would reach that very hillside in a few short hours. She could almost sense the fear of them, she thought, hooked smile tracing her features, oh how sweet her revenge would taste. "Just a few more hours," she said, knowing that by the time day broke, she would be waiting. They wouldn't even see her coming. Finally _Emrys_ - the name stung her throat like a curse - would pay for what he did._Oh, it would be very sweet indeed._


	6. Carry on my wayward son

Carry on my wayward son

Day dawned brightly at the crumbling castle, sneaking up on the sleeping figures on the hillside. Only one lay awake, sat on a rock on the outskirts of their camp, a silent guardian. Merlin stretched, watching the pale sun rise, deciding it was time to wake everybody up. He re-lit the dying fire, clapping his hands twice with a cheerful "Morning!" to rouse the knights. With several groans and stirring, the small party woke, gathering around the tiny fire in minutes: sleep filled eyes not yet adjusted to the overpowering daylight, blinking constantly and half-asleep still. Merlin rolled his eyes at their laziness, quickly resuming his role of 'servant' as he collected water from a nearby waterfall, only slightly distracted by its proximity to the cave, and boiled it over the fire to make tea. He had limited supplies in the car now; a couple of tea sachets, snack bars and stale sandwiches. But they would have to make do for now. Carrying these few remaining morsels to the makeshift camp, he sat with a closed smile and began handing out the provisions. Some of the knights made faces at the food, but after a stern glance from Merlin, all complaining ceased. Gwaine nodded his thanks as the sorcerer handed him the last of the bars, asking "What about you?"

The boy shrugged, unchanged, "I'm not hungry." Before anyone had chance to comment on this, he ploughed on. "The cave," a sigh, almost of defeat, passed through the assembled crowd, who had hoped their friend would forget his mysterious lights from the previous night, "I still want to go there. I think it's important"

To his surprise, Arthur nodded, and Merlin instantly forgot the argument he had been conducting in his head of reasons to go. He must have looked shocked outwardly, for the King laughed, "I promised you, so we'll go." Merlin's face curved into a grateful smile at this, touched by the gesture. "Thank you."

So it was that an hour later, after stomping out the fire and collecting any belongings, the troop marched down the slippery, staggered cliff path to the sodden beach below. There was no one around, in fact an eerie silence had fallen on the place, par the crashing of the waves on the shore. Standing on a rock at the end of the staircase and helping Gwen down, Merlin turned to survey the delicate beach before them: the waterfall from which he'd collected water stood about halfway down, the cave on the far side, with a dotting of grey rocks in between. They paused at the edge, reluctant to go on. It wasn't fear exactly, but a feeling of dread emitted from the cave; they did not want to be parted again after such a brief reunion. Luckily, they'd get a helping hand before they reached their destination.

"Um, come on. We'd better get this over with" suggested Arthur, taking his first steps across the lonely beach. The sand felt strange to walk on, sinking slightly underneath his boots. He found the sensation quite unsettling, feeling as if the whole land could swallow them in an instant. "Is this safe?" he asked Merlin, who was distracted, for some reason looking towards the sea, not the cave. "What? It's just a beach Arthur – haven't you ever seen one before?" the boy replied.

"No, actually"

"Oh," Merlin looked at him thoughtfully, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize. You missed a lot." This ended the conversation on an awkward note, Merlin thinking of the times he'd missed with Arthur: the King likewise wondering what else this brand new world had to shock him with. Luckily, Leon interrupted them, "so, what have we missed? Is there anything fun at all here? It looks a bit of an awful place so far – everything's in ruin."

"It's not all bad," Merlin admitted, smiling softly, "there are some things I like. Wonderful things, really."

"Like what?" It was Gwaine who asked this time, and now the entire group listened in fascination.

The sorcerer blushed slightly, "I don't know really – just the little things, I guess. It's nice to have heating without having to make a fire. The foods better," he paused to grin, "I can't wait to buy you all your first curry. Or to get you to watch some crap telly, or to buy Gwaine his first beer." He stopped abruptly, "I do love this world, but I never felt like I belonged here. Now you're all back, it's feeling like home."

"You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?"

"I've been waiting a long time, Gwaine. I had ages to think." They seemed content with this answer, so the subject was dropped for now. All of the Knights, and especially Arthur, worried what it had been like for Merlin to have waited so long. They wanted to ask him, but didn't know how to. He looked fine, acted it, but how could they be sure? He'd hid his magic for long enough, so how could they trust his act now? The truth was that the Knights felt they did not know Merlin at all anymore, but really, there were none who know him better.

* * *

It was as they crossed the waterfall's shallow flow to the sea that a very odd thing happened. Merlin stopped suddenly as his feet touched the icy water, which landed onto the beach from its falls and twisted across the sand until it rejoined the turquoise sea. "What is it?" asked Guinevere, who had been talking quietly to him before he'd paused. The Sorcerer shook his head but did not move, his head swiveling from gazing at the falls as they passed to the waves, where they locked onto a building wave on the horizon. Merlin grinned impulsively, before running at full pace through the water to the sea, his boots soaked as the sea foam hit them. "What is it?!" Gwen called after him again, and all turned to watch, but he made no move to answer, staring down the wave as if it were made of gold. He laughed, and then shouted loudly at the approaching mass of water, "Hurry up then! You don't want to miss the party!" No one understood, thinking he'd gone positively mad.

The wave, seeming to hear him, took form. It was royal blue: a cool, calm and precise colour. The entire sea glowed with that colour, cleaner and brighter than ever before. It was slow in its gathering, taking its time to reach the shore; as it did, a figure could be seen emerging from its depths. He rose, consistent as ever, and walked now as the wave cascaded around him, freeing him. Its white foam crashed around the figure, full of passion and collected bravery, as Sir Lancelot was born of the sea. He walked calmly from this chaos, across the golden sands to where Merlin waited, still grinning, to hug his friend. They did, and the Knights could be heard shouting behind them, the sound of boots scrambling across sand filling the air as they ran to meet them. In the celebration of the moment, no one heard the sneer from the cave.

As Arthur was born of the sun, golden with loyalty and hour and burning brightly; Lancelot was born of the sea, calm and open and building with compassion. Arthur was a fire: he grew quickly and was hard to put out, throwing light upon those in his presence so they grew with him – the natural leader. The other man was his opposite. Lancelot was water: calmer, more patient in his ways and more likely to think before he acted – the soldier. Lancelot was transparent too; his emotions were clear in the way he acted; who he fought for. Arthur was impulsive. Lancelot was practical. The King sought affirmation of his deeds. The knight was just happy to serve honestly. Both fought for redemption. By being opposites, they became unstoppable if they fought the same battles. Together, fire and water were unbeatable.

Merlin embraced Lancelot, as did the other knights when they arrived eagerly, glad of another friendly face on their journey. "You're late," scolded Merlin teasingly, "You almost missed all the action." Lancelot smiled warmly back.

"As if I'd do that" he grinned. There was a time when the knight had been Merlin's best friend, the only one he had trusted with his secret; the sorcerer was the most pleased at Lancelot's return. "I'm glad you're okay, Merlin."

"On, I'm always that."

The reunion between Arthur and Lancelot was less awkward than expected, for as he saw the King, the knight dropped to one knee, beginning to apologise and trying to explain about the shade Morgana had conjured; that it was not him who betrayed Arthur. "Rise" Arthur said with a stern face, and the anxious Lancelot obeyed. "Sire-"

"I don't want to hear it" snapped the King raising a hand. He kept up an angry pretense, stony face set into a haughty expression. This broke almost instantly though, as he laughed, face breaking into a grin which was soon shared, "Merlin's already explained it all to me – I'm the one who should be apologising," he clapped Lancelot in the back, and the knight smiled again, flushing pink, "You're too easy to fool, Lancelot" The King laughed, and so did all the knights, relieved at the tension being broken. None wanted to see the King fight with his own men once more. "Thanks for that," Lancelot sighed, "Now I'll not hear the end of it."

"What did you think I was going to do, execute you?"

"Well you are the king, and you do have a terrible temper"

"I do _not_ have a temper!" Arthur shouted, already feeling his face contort into an annoyed expression.

"Yes you do" chorused both Lancelot and Merlin, who caught eyes and grinned.

"Do not" Arthur muttered again, realizing his mistake in acting angrily moments before; everyone laughed. The King decided to let it go. "Welcome back, Sir Lancelot."

"Thank you, my lord."

* * *

With a more positive outlook, the group headed towards the cave once more after a while talking among themselves. Lancelot sidled up to Merlin, "So they know now then? He asked. The boy looked confused. "About your magic" The knight explained, and his friend nodded thoughtfully, "Yes, they do. But they only know that I have magic – none of the other things yet. We didn't really have the chance to spend time together after they found out."

"How did they react?"

"Arthur, he was scared I think. I thought he hated me," Merlin admitted with a frown, "Percival was . . . thankful. I don't know about the rest – Percy told them for me."

Lancelot nodded in agreement, "and now?"

"They forgive me, but there is much they don't know. I've done some terrible things: you know that."

"You've done some great things too," Lancelot reminded him. "Do they know about the Dragon?" he asked, remembering the conversation with the beast many, many years ago. "Arthur knows I'm a Dragon Lord, but I don't think he understands all that it means."

"Perhaps you'd better keep that to yourself, the best offense in desperate times is often surprise" Lancelot advised.

"Yeah, perhaps you're right" signed Merlin, "although I don't know if that means anything anymore: I don't know what happened to Aithusa after the battle and she was the last of her kind – and what's a Dragon Lord without a dragon?" Lancelot smiled sympathetically, he'd seen his friend so down often. "You're more than that, my friend. I think you sometimes forget it." The Warlock had no chance to reply, for they had reached the dark mouth of the cave. Not much could be seen of the inside, just shadows; not even a clear path ahead could be spotted in its murkiness.

"Still want to go in?" inquired Arthur, appearing at their side. He looked to Merlin, no one else, for an answer. The boy nodded, "I'm sure I saw something, what if it's another one of us?"

"What if it's a trap?"

"What if it's Gaius?" Merlin let the words that had been playing on his mind slip from his lips, regretting it in an instant as in front of him, the Kings face turned to pity, and he couldn't stand that. He had been hoping, so much it consumed every waking moment, that with everyone returning – perhaps his mentor could too. He missed his friend. Arthur softened. "I know it's hard, but you can't let your heart rule your head here: it's too dangerous."

"What if it is? Would you leave him? Lost in there, in the dark and alone – I know that feeling, and I for one won't risk it" Merlin protested bitterly, turning on heel and storming into the cave. "You don't even know for sure that it is Gaius!" Arthur shouted behind him, noticing how they all seemed to stare at the Warlock a little apprehensively now. Every time Merlin had an outburst like this, angry flashes about his time alone; his mask slipped a little, they did not know how to help. He turned back to them, "No, I don't know for sure, but I have to check in case it is. Please, can you understand that?" The boy asked, but the question was apparently rhetorical, for he immediately whipped around and back into the gloom. Lancelot was the first to follow him, seconds before Gwaine too sped up to catch up. The King sighed wearily. "He'll be alright" Gwen reassured, leaning on his arm, "it's just – things have changed for him."

"_He's_ changed."

"Maybe," Gwen said, and then smiled, "But our Merlin's still in there somewhere, I believe that. It will just take some time for him to recover."

"Time isn't something we have – this prophecy is happening now." Arthur thought of his premonition showing Merlin dying and shuddered, "I need him back."

"I know," she said, "but things just don't go away in an instant: some scars run too deep"

"But it's like I can't even understand him anymore"

"That's because we can't. None of us know what he's been through; until he chooses to tell us that isn't likely to change."

"Then why doesn't he just talk to me?" Arthur demanded, frustrated for no real reason, "After all this time I knew I trusted him – I thought he trusted me too."

"He hasn't hadn't had the chance, dear. You've been too busy saving us all to talk! You said he had a home, right?" Arthur nodded. "Then when we return there, you will have more time to talk, and I'm sure he'll tell you." Gwen reassured him as best she could, but she could see how truly worried he was. "And what is something happens before then?" he challenged.

"We hope it doesn't" was all the answer the Queen had. "But, we can be sure of one thing: Merlin will never give up. He'll do what he always does" she added.

"What's that?"

"Carry on."

Guinevere squeezed his arm affectionately before too heading into the gloomy cave, after a second, Arthur too followed Merlin: of course he would.

* * *

The cave was too dark to see in, but was excellent for concealing things. Such was the plan of one Morgana Pendragon, who stood waiting within its mouth. She smirked as they passed without even glancing in her direction: their arrogance would be their downfall. Her army was small now, but it would grow and they were ready. Ready, in position in the cave to take out the knights while she dealt with the real problem. It was so easy, how these boys playing men fell into the palms of her hands. Victory was pre-determined. This time, the knights of Camelot would lose their most special weapon; without it they would fall like dominoes. And she would be the gust of wind to topple them all.

* * *

As they stormed the cave, unsure what awaited them, Arthur in particular felt on guard to attack. He had moved forwards in the masses so he now kept pace with Merlin, who searched the cave despairingly. He felt himself break into a sweat, the warm air flowing through the cave not helping the perspiration brought on by his panic. The Warlock was so feverish in his searching that he missed the noise. That was Merlin's first mistake that day; but not his last, or his greatest. The footsteps carried on running, unnoticed. That was, until the warning battle cry filled the cavern, and the fight commenced.

The warriors were tall, more so than any man there, even Percival. They were dark, virtually undetectable in the cave, apart from two bright red streaks painted onto their cheeks. Long, raggedy hair fell in knots right down their backs, and they wore only torn trousers, with no shoes but hardened feet. They were called 'Banes', by Morgana's creation. It was her own private joke; Arthur's bane was himself, but her Banes would defeat them.

They attacked swiftly, using long swords with bone handles, which slashed viciously. Gwaine cried out as one cut his back, turning to draw his own sword and engage it in combat. He caught it off guard with his quick reaction, slicing its stomach open with difficulty. The creature, he was sure it was no man, dropped to the floor with a groan. "We're under attack!" he yelled, wincing as his own wound throbbed. Two more emerged in front of him, but he felt someone stand by his side, and seeing it was Lancelot, he grinned. "One each, what do you say?" Gwaine grinned, before jumping forwards to attack the figure on the left. Lancelot mirrored this on his right, parrying with the towering creature.

Behind them, another creature was advancing on a terrified Gwen, who screamed in fright as it raised its sword. "Astrice!" Merlin was at her side in a second, sending the Bane flying and seizing her wrist, "Run." He pulled her through the cave, knocking one more figure into the wall, before they ran into Elyan. "I heard a scream" the young knight explained, looking nervously around for a threat.

"There are creatures attacking us, you need to get your sister out of here" Merlin explained.

"What about the others? Me and Leon were ahead of you, everyone else is back there" Elyan protested, wishing instead to fight.

"I'll protect them, but Arthur would want Gwen to be safe. Take her with you and Leon – follow the cave back, it's got to end somewhere" the Warlock instructed, and the knight nodded.

"Good luck" Elyan said as Merlin ran off, back towards the battle.

"And be careful!" called Gwen.

* * *

Lancelot killed his opponent after a struggle, immediately joining Gwaine in his fight next to him; between them the second soldier lay on the rocks within minutes. "That was fun" remarked Gwaine lightly, swinging his sword round so it was held aloft in front of him. "Depends on your definition of 'fun'" retorted Lancelot, for grim were their chances.

"Bad odds, huge fellas, good fights" stated Gwaine, just as another four figures tore from the darkness.

"This must be a party then" said another voice, as Arthur stepped into the light beside them, as did Percival: the remaining knights standing together. "My lord – come to join the reunion!" Gwaine said, but his words came out slurred, from loss of blood, he was fading fast. Arthur felt his heart stop: this was it, one of the visions from Avalon. The exact words Gwaine had said then. The King had thought Gwaine was drunk in the vision, not injured; that was a mere misinterpretation. That's not what he delayed on however, the main focus of his thoughts right then were _its happening. _If this vision had come to pass – would the one about Merlin.

"Sire" Arthur realized his knights were looking at him, and he had been ignoring them for moments. He blinked, noting the figures were metres away now, and his men ready. "For Camelot!" he announced, a chant echoed before they surged forwards, slashing and stabbing, into the fray.

Things were not going well, they were outnumbered, but not too greatly, however these _things_ were huge, and hard to kill. Percival managed to stop the most, for he stood nearly eye to eye with the beasts, but he was just one man. They were losing. "We need to retreat" Arthur cried to Lancelot, as their paths crossed. The other knight pushed him out of the way, slaying a beast approaching the Kings turned back. Arthur nodded his thanks as Lancelot pulled him back up, "I don't see how we can" the knight said, "There are too many, we'll never get away." The King saw this problem; all that was left was fighting even if it was hopeless.

"Astrice!" two more figures fell as Merlin approached at a run, eyes scanning the room for Arthur and finding him quickly. "Over here!" he called, catching their attention. The Knights, with a goodbye stab or cut, ran over to the where Merlin waited, pursued by the Bane. As they passed him, he uttered instructions to run and find Leon to them. Arthur was the last to come, and stood still by Merlin.

The Warlock faced the army. "Feoll bu brand!" he commanded; while the cave did shake, it did not fall as he had hoped. "Feoll bu brand" he tried again and a small band of attackers were hindered by a rock falling on top of them. But more were coming, they could be seen approaching, not fifty metres away. "We have to go now" ordered Arthur, so for now, his friend complied. The two ran through the cave for maybe ten minutes, stumbling on rocks but overall quicker than the Bane, who fell behind by some way. The others waited for them at the caves end, which was a beach reachable by wading through waist high sea water.

"We were worried." Leon said, "There is another cave, just over there," he pointed across the small expanse of water to a sheltered opening, almost hidden, "we should hide."

The King nodded in agreement, "Let's go." While most of the knights followed their orders without hesitation, Merlin shook his head. "They'll only follow us, let me try to seal the cave" he turned to return to the shadows, but Arthur grabbed his arm.

"No," the King spoke solemnly, "that's an order."

"I never do what I'm told anyway." Merlin shook his arm free, putting a hand on the cave wall and concentrating. "Gewican ge stanas!" a rock shifted above them, falling into the cave's mouth and blocking the path, but not fully. Sighing, he moved inside the cave, just past the entrance, to try again. "Merlin," Arthur pleaded from outside, "I know you're powers are returning, but they are still weak. You have to stop."

The Warlock shook his head, instead opting for a different spell "Ic the bebode thaet thu abifiast nu." Again, the ground rumbled, but it was a whisper, not a battle cry. Merlin wasn't ready yet, not that he'd stop trying. "The dwarf was right, wasn't he?" Arthur commented, growing impatient at his friend's stubbornness. He would do anything to help Merlin get better; anything at all, but now was now the time. "No" was the reply her got, as the Sorcerer reappeared to view, just inside the cave, but face to face with Arthur. "You _are _weakened" the King said, but not cruelly. He was begging for Merlin to understand, so they could deal with it.

"I can do this!" the boy shouted, slamming his fist into the rock, so the ground shook once more.

"But not as you once could" protested Arthur.

Merlin looked him dead in the eyes now. "Just run, I'll hold them back."

But Arthur groaned, raising his voice, "You _can't _do it. You've changed."

"I grew up"

"YOU GAVE IN" Arthur roared, letting his full anger show as he seemed to double in height. Merlin flinched at the words, starting back; looking as if he'd been punched. He paled, and his eyes: they were so full of pain. The King regretted his words immediately, but before he had the chance to take them back, a mighty crack sounded, and in front of his eyes, Merlin disappeared under a pile of rocks: trapping him inside the cave – with Arthur left on the other side.

* * *

Merlin, after the initial shock at being cut off, turned slowly to face the ranks of the beings attacking them. Their ranks parted in half, as a lone figure, one so familiar, strode purposefully through them until she stood in front of him. "Emrys," she greeted him with a wicked grin, "how the great have crumbled."

"You won't win: Arthur escaped" Merlin told her, genuinely thinking of nothing else. His friends were safe, and together – they would be safe, he knew it. Morgana laughed, "oh but my dear Merlin, that was never my plan – I wanted _you._"

"Why?"

"After all this time - you question that?" she sounded incredulous, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, "you were their deadliest weapon."

"Then you should know that I do not fear you, Morgana. I used to; I used to fear you killing Arthur. I never feared what you would do to me, though; I do not fear the other world," he smiled grimly, "but my King is safe so I have nothing to fear. Do what you want to me, I don't care – you'll never win." Morgana scowled, furious as his rebellion. She wanted him terrified; she wanted him begging for mercy: she wanted him to pay.

But instead, he only smiled at her, "But you feared me, you feared Emrys," he spoke the next words very carefully, with coldness behind them, "And I will stop you."

"Hleap on bæc!" Morgana screamed, sending Merlin flying across the room. He crashed into the rock fall behind him and landed in a heap on the floor, blood dripping from a gash in the back on his head. Annoyed that she had lost her control, she walked over to his form and crouched next to him, "But once I have dealt with you, what's to stop me from destroying them all?" she asked of his unconscious form, cruelly, teasingly. She would hurt him. Morgana stood, nodded to her men to carry the Warlock, before they left the cave for good, taking Merlin with them to the unknown.

* * *

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, pounding at the fallen rocks with his fist. "Merlin!" he screamed until his throat was raw, desperately trying to loosen some of the rocks; to help his friend. "Arthur" sounded a voice, strongly commanding, "calm down. We need to think" It was Lancelot, who stood behind him regarding the problem thoughtfully. "How can you be so heartless? Merlin was your friend!" The King demanded. "He still is" the Knight said, forcing back an angry response. This pulled Arthur short, they didn't know anything yet – how could he be so quick to speak of his friend in the past tense? "We need to shift that rock there," Lancelot continued, tapping his sword against a medium sized rock at the base of the structure, "If that one goes, the rest will fall – it's holding them up."

Gwaine, who too was panicked like Arthur, frenzied in his tearing away of smaller rocks, immediately, moved to study this. "It could work" he mused. Moving to position it correctly, Sir Gwaine jabbed his sword into a thin gap between the indicated rock and the one next to it, then began pressing down in it, using it as a lever. This worked for a few minutes, shifting dirt from around the stone and freeing its edges with a bit of effort. Then, quite unexpectedly, his word snapped as he pushed, almost breaking exactly in two. Gwaine fell to the ground, stunned; the sword lay broken at his feet. "It's not working!" snapped Arthur.

"We need a stronger sword" suggested Leon, standing forward to try his own.

The King smiled suddenly, "My sword – Merlin said so once, it was forged in the Dragon's breath" he exclaimed joyfully, unsheathing Excalibur. He thrust it into the gap, and was reminded of pulling it from a similar stone when he claimed it all those years ago. Now, he suspected the cunning Merlin also had something to do with that miracle too.

Arthur twisted Excalibur; the stone moved forward an inch. The Knights all smiled briefly, but it was short – lived, as they were all aware of the danger their friend was in. He pushed again, and a gap appeared. "Merlin!" he cried through it, but no reply came from within. Cursing, he pushed again; three efforts later, the stone fell, sending a cascade of stones to their feet. The path no longer blocked, but some time passed, the group sped through the cave, searching for something to tell them what had happened. Merlin was not on the other side of the blockade. Nor was he on the corner where they had fought the creatures. Arthur, with his last hope, tore across the stones, not caring if he fell, to the cave of the mouth. "No!" he hoarsely screamed, "NO!" The beach was empty; the only trace a line of footprints leading to the grassy hill, where they disappeared. They were disturbed though, a mark made by something heavier and wider than a foot. _Merlin,_ Arthur thought. They were dragging him behind them like a piece of dirt.

The King didn't know where they'd gone.

He didn't know if Merlin was even still alive.

He didn't know who'd taken his friend.

Or what the attacking creatures were.

But Arthur Pendragon knew two things in absolute clarity in that moment.

One: that the best friend he would ever know was gone, taken from him.

Two: That nothing in this world would stop him from getting Merlin back.

* * *

_ To be continued. . ._


	7. Leave out all the rest

Leave out all the rest

Merlin woke after some time to darkness. He opened his eyes, not that he could see anything: to a pounding in his head and stiff joints. _I wonder how long I was out, _he thought, worried about how his friends were managing with him gone. They could have been alone for hours, even days. _I have to get back to them. _With this revelation among the incoherent jumble of his concussed brain, the Warlock attempted to move, to get away, but found he could not. Regaining some focus, he worked out by shifting his weight that he was tied to a chair, sitting upright. His bindings were too cold to be rope, and too strong, so he guessed they were chains. "Abricaþ benda" he whispered, hoping the chains would snap so he could be out of there as soon as possible. They glowed momentarily, so the room was briefly illuminated, showing him to be in a vast space, an empty room with one door and a covered window; but the chains did not break, instead tightening. Merlin groaned as it squeezed the breath from his lungs: aware now that he was definitely a prisoner somewhere. Where exactly there was no way to tell, but he had to get out before Morgana returned.

"Leaving so soon?" said a voice from behind him, and his hope left him as Morgana walked through the door. He managed to turn his head just enough to see her approach. She paused directly behind his back, grabbing his head where it was injured so he had to bite his lip to contain a scream of pain; she leaned in to his ear before whispering "Did you really think it would be that easy?" She shoved his head forward, releasing him, and walked to the window. She pulled off the covering, so they attic was half lit with stark light.

_Daylight? _Merlin thought - but was it the same daylight he was injured in, or a new day? "No, of course not," he answered calmly, "that's just my luck."

"And you never did have the best of luck, did you Merlin?" The Priestess sneered, but Merlin remained silent, determined not to give her that satisfaction of an answer, or a conversation. She was facing him, her back to the window; it's square of light surrounding her and setting her features into fierce contrast. He did not expect her to want to talk; in fact he expected torture, or death. Even the world's greatest sorcerer could not have predicted that Morgana Pendragon wanted an explanation.

"You have magic" she said, not as an accusation, or a threat. It was a question. Or at least, that's the feeling he got from it. It was strange, Morgana didn't seem so fierce now, she looked – sad. Betrayed, almost. It was confusing, so breaking his stoic silence; he nodded, "Yes"

"And you never told me?" So this was what it was about - Merlin keeping his secret. Why did everything come down to that? He'd kept his magic a secret for all of them. Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn't listening anymore, ploughing on as she paced in front of the window. She spoke again, getting more and more expressive as she did, almost screaming at the end, "After you found out I had magic – _how scared I was_ – you didn't think to tell me? You didn't think it might help to have someone going through the same thing?"

"And risk being executed?"

"I would never have told!" Morgana stopped pacing, saying this passionately, exaggerating the word 'never', "You were my friend."

Merlin sighed. "Yes, you _were_. But what about afterwards? When you were intent of destroying Camelot? If you'd have known then, you would have killed me."

"I might not have, we could have worked together – for magic."

Merlin laughed out loud at this, infuriating her even more. "You still don't get it, do you Morgana? We could never have fought together: we fought different battles. I fought to bring magic back peacefully," he leaned forwards, sounding disgusted now, "and you fought only for revenge."

"I fought for _our _kind!"

"No you didn't! You used to, you tried to help the way I did – but you became so hateful, so bitter; it was never about magic after that, it was just your personal vendetta"

"_You betrayed our kind" _

"I SAVED OUR KIND!" Merlin shouted, angry now, but quietened, adding coldly, "You condemned them." Morgana recoiled, twisting venomously to face him and moving forwards, closer to where Merlin was bound, defenceless. "You're a liar, Emrys"

"No," he shook his head, "no, I'm not. You condemned them all, to suffering and death, for too long. Don't you see?" He groaned then, a frustrated scream at her ignorance. He thought about it, really thought, and it all came down to that. Everything he'd done, Morgana had been the one stopping him, making it all so hard. She was wrong, and it was time he finally told her.

"When I first arrived in Camelot, I was just a boy: but I was a sorcerer too. I knew that, but I didn't know how. I was born with it," he paused, but she had stopped stock still, listening for perhaps the first time in her life. "Then, I heard a voice calling to me in my dreams, an old voice; a wise one. I followed it to a dungeon underneath the castle and found Kilgarrah, the great dragon. Over the years in Camelot, he spoke to me, helped me-"

"Why did he never speak to me?" Morgana interrupted, the spite was gone completely from her face, replaced by a long lost curiosity. "I was of magic too, why would he not help?"

Merlin sighed, "Because he knew . . . what you would become. Just as he knew I was Emrys, he knew you would be Arthur's destruction." The Priestess looked crestfallen, speaking quietly, "So I was made to be evil?"

Not knowing how to respond, Merlin pretended not to heave heard, and continued with his story. "So he helped me to save Arthur for many years, and things – they went well for a while, although it didn't feel like it at the time. I had no idea how bad it would get. So, for a long time, that was the dance we did: Arthur was an idiot, and I saved him, keeping my secret of course – because that's what I was told was my destiny."

"But you never wanted credit? Why?"

"They'd have killed me," Merlin laughed, "But that's not why I did it anyway. You see, from the moment I was told that I was 'Emrys', and I must save Camelot – I got promised something at the end of it all – he called it Albion. It was a land I would create with Arthur, where Camelot was strong - and magic was free."

"But that never happened; you had years with your destiny and nothing changed" Morgana accused. If he was so great, then why didn't Albion get built straight away? "It wasn't that easy" Merlin shouted, "Especially with you getting in the way"

"How was I to know? You never shared your secret with me – I was only trying to free my people too!"

"Everything I did – _everything_ – you made it worthless, Morgana. Every time I was so close, I nearly had Arthur believing magic was a force for good; you would do something to make it all useless. _Every time_ I considered telling him after I'd saved someone, because he might see it differently – you'd attack someone, or destroy something – showing him it was bad. You were wrong. You made us look evil in his eyes and condemned magic." He was getting quite flustered now, angrier than Morgana had ever seen him, "All I ever worked for, everything I ever lost something for or fought for or bled for – you made it worthless."

"I-I didn't know" she stuttered.

"You ruined me" he said it dripping with venom, every bit of weariness and pain on his face in that second, "I only ever wanted peace."

"And you didn't mind destroying me in the process?" Morgana demanded, matching his anger with her own. Both could be cruel, manipulative people if they needed to be, and right now all the buried anger of the past was showing. "I never wanted to – you brought that upon yourself!" he yelled.

"By not knowing? Perhaps if you'd had trusted me things might not have ended this way"

That essentially tipped cold water over Merlin's head, and his rage sobered instantly, "I'm sorry that it did" he said softly.

"Me too"

* * *

A silence fell between them, as Morgana leaned against the window and Merlin relaxed in his bounds. "Abricaþ benda" he tried again, but the chains did not yield.

"It will take a lot more than that" Morgana informed him, "Why are you still trying to escape? I'm not hurting you."

"I know. I just figured it would be easier to talk if I wasn't tied up."

"I can't let you go, Merlin"

"Why? I'm not your enemy anymore" he pleaded.

"But you are, Emrys. We have no choice – destiny took that away from us all." She wasn't being cruel or vindictive anymore; Morgana Pendragon had no other path to take. The change from calling him 'Merlin' to 'Emrys' was noted by Merlin. "It doesn't have to end this way" the Warlock told her. She wanted so desperately to believe him, to believe his story of Albion and peace. But too much had happened between them; there was no going back from here. "You killed me, Emrys"

"I didn't want to," he sounded genuinely apologetic, and she expected him to stop there, but he carried on, "I was told to kill you a long time before that. By Kilgarrah, he said you would be the doom of Camelot – I didn't want to believe him. You were so sweet back then, before – well, before things happened. He said I should kill you or else let you die."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because as much as things have changed: you were my friend. That meant something to me. You hadn't done anything wrong and I couldn't bear to do it."

"You should have," she said bitterly, "Arthur might have lived then." He made a noise that might have been a sigh; she watched him. Merlin had changed. Just as the others had noticed, so did Morgana.

"Don't say that," he ordered, annoyed again, "Don't even start playing the victim again. I tried so hard to save you! I really did blame myself for what happened to you, understand that. I wanted to keep you in Camelot, safe, until Albion was built. In a way, I wanted to prove to you that Arthur was not Uther – and he isn't." She looked up at this. Morgana had never given her brother much thought in all of this, besides defeating him.

"I don't trust anything you say anymore" she said.

"I never wanted this to happen! All the times I tried to keep you grounded there, I tried to keep you away from the evil around us, but you ran straight to it. By trying to kill Uther; siding with Morgause – none of that was on me. That was all you. You were the one who left us. I had no choice after that, you were attacking us and I had to stop you. But I tried so hard, for so long, to keep you on the good side"

"What's the 'good' side?! With you? Standing by letting our kind be slaughtered"

"I tried to help them" he exclaimed, "I helped Mordred, didn't I? Even though I knew he would one day kill Arthur. I did that for you – I thought you might stay of you thought you could help people."

"You helped one boy of hundreds - that's nothing. If you wanted me to stay, you should have trusted me. If I had hope of Albion, as you had been given, I might have seen a future. As it was I thought the only way was to end Uther's reign."

Merlin provided no answer for a few minutes, thinking. "If you had tried to see the love in people; their goodness instead of spite, I wouldn't have needed to" he said evenly.

"Some people don't have any goodness to find"

"Yes, they do" Merlin told her, "They always do. But sometimes you don't look hard enough to find it. In the way that Uther viewed all those with magic as being evil, you viewed all those in Camelot as heartless – you really are Uther's daughter."

"Don't you _dare _say that ever again" Morgana snapped, striding across the room and slapping the serving boy across the face. He took the blow without complaint, staring her down. It was as he did this that Morgana really saw the change in him. Through everything, Merlin always had a kindness to his eyes, now only a cold apathy remained: like he was dead behind the eyes. It was truly terrifying; Morgana knew he was more dangerous now than ever – a man with no hope is a man with nothing to lose.

"The sins of the father are not those of the daughter" she warned him, "would you judge Arthur this way?"

"Arthur was never like Uther – he was so much better than him."

"And I'm not?"

"You used to be," Merlin sighed, "before you brought yourself down to his level. Then you became so much like Uther that the old Morgana, the compassionate one, was unrecognisable." Fuming, Morgana took a deep breath and stood back, straightening her posture so she towered over him.

"And you, Emrys– are you like your father?" she asked.

"I'd like to believe I am" the Warlock said earnestly, fleetingly looking like his past self. "He was a good man; I'd be proud to be half the man he was"

"I never got to feel that way - pride, I mean. I never had a father to be proud of" Morgana mused. The boy said nothing, for frankly he agreed that there was nothing to be proud of in having Uther as a father – except perhaps that he died protecting his son. "Who was he, your father?" Merlin's train of thought was interrupted by the question.

"Why does it matter?" he demanded, becoming impatient. The Sorceress changed the topic, allowing the matter to drop if it was a sore one, for she needed to know now. She needed to know why. Why he couldn't save her. "Can you really forget it so easily?" Morgana asked coolly.

"What?"

"The hurt. You learned hide it well, but I can see it. You're hurting" she said.

"Why can't you let it be?" he snapped suddenly. If he could convince her to move on, maybe he could save her at last; and then everyone could be safe. _Everyone._ "Because I never got an ending" she announced, "It was just – over."

To her surprise, he nodded solemnly in agreement, "me neither."

"But at least you won, Emrys. My army was destroyed and everything we fought for lost, but for you, Camelot still stood"

"You think this is _winning_?" his voice gained pace at this, spitting the question out bitterly. "I may have saved Camelot – but that doesn't mean I didn't lose everything. I did."

"You lost one man"

"Arthur was gone" he roared, leaning forward viciously, anger quick to build, "he was gone, and everything was lost with him. And as for an _ending," _he spat, "You got a better one than I did. I have lived for a _thousand_ years, I never ever got to rest – at least you got an ending in death."

Morgana's head snapped up, "You think dying was a good end? I-"

"-It's better than living" he didn't give her chance to finish, but only spoke quietly. "When you die you get an answer, or at least to _sleep_. But living after all of that - once you've lost everything you held most dear – you just get so _tired." _She could see it on his face, the weary old man leaping out from his youthful features; he was old, and tired. She shook herself, was she really pitying him? Emrys, who had destroyed her?! "Do you expect sympathy?" she sneered, "What happened is no more than you deserve."

"No," he shook his head, "I don't want pity – but if you're going to kill me, you can hear it all first. If you could have the decency to kill me quickly now though, I would be thankful. I think we've established that I'd welcome it" Merlin was done. He was done trying to fight the tide that was coming in, so he sank into the depths instead. If she killed him, it was not losing; it was giving in and finding rest.

"You're no saint, and I won't make you martyr" Morgana replied, stringing together an idea.

"I never said I was! I know I'm an awful person who has done terrible, terrible things: I don't need you to tell me that. I don't have the answers you want" he protested. "Just let me die."

The lady Morgana could not believe her luck; he was pathetic – pleading for death. But somehow, on that day, she could not bring herself to think cruelly on these words. She had imaged this moment a thousand times, to have Emrys at her feet begging for death, but now when it was real, she could see only simple Merlin at her mercy. Merlin: who laughed even in the hardest of times – begging to die? It wasn't victory, not even justice – it was sad.

"Perhaps keeping you alive would be the bigger torment, Emrys" she said, not because she meant it heartlessly, but because she couldn't bring herself to kill him when he was like this. She wanted a fight: a blaze of glory in which she would finally vanquish her foe on level ground – not the plain murder of an empty man. That would be no victory at all.

He looked at her strangely then. He'd figured it out. "You used to call me Merlin." He sighed. She said nothing, so he carried on. "Until I was your enemy, I was your friend. When you found out who I was you switched straight to calling me Emrys. Why is that, my lady?" He was mocking now underneath the facade, for he finally understood her and their relationship. "It was nice to put a name to my tormentor" she said too quickly, turning away.

"I think it's more than that," he said, tilting his head to the side and refusing to let her drop her gaze, "It is like you couldn't call me Merlin and still fight me. When I was Emrys, I was your enemy, but Merlin – I was your friend. That still means something."

"No, it means nothing!" Morgana yelled, "You _were_ my friend, _Merlin_" she said his name in his face, "but then you stabbed me in the back by betraying me; it didn't count for anything then."

"Then why couldn't you call me by the name you did when we were friends?"

"Because you are Emrys, it was your destiny long before you were just Merlin" she reasoned, although it was a lie. He was right – she didn't call him Merlin because the name didn't bring to mind her doom, but her old friend, the clumsy serving boy. Merlin would never be her mortal enemy, Emrys was.

"I don't think that's true" he didn't let it drop, gaining confidence now. "I think you call me Emrys when I am your rival and Merlin when I am at your mercy. You fear Emrys but not Merlin, but equally you will not hurt me when you're thinking of me as Merlin. So you pretend I'm nothing more than Emrys"

"You're nothing _without_ Emrys" she screamed coldly at him, "Merlin is nobody: you were a useless, clumsy idiot! If it hadn't been for your destiny – for you becoming Emrys – nobody would have thought anything of you at all." Now that hurt him. It wasn't true, it was Merlin who his friends knew, not Emrys; it was the serving boy they loved. But it made him feel as worthless as he'd believed for years, and gave him a determination to carry on. He was more than that – more than who is destiny said he would be. He was definitely more than what Morgana thought of him; he would not let her win. He would not abandon his friends. He would never be so afraid again. This time he was getting an ending; he would fight for it.

"I am," Merlin laughed bitterly. "I am so much more than any of you thought." She did not get time to retort before he opened his mouth and a string of words, a spell so powerful it shook the room, escaped. It might not have worked yesterday, but right then, he believed in himself for a second of madness, and it showed. "O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes! Erkheo!" he called, head tilted to the sky and voice strong.

"What are you doing?" Morgana demanded, fear briefly flashing across her face. He had changed in a second, from limply sitting; losing hope, to shouting fiercely, as she had never seen him before. It had always been old Emrys like that: so great and powerful, never her Merlin, who fell over a lot and once brought her flowers.

His face dropped to look at her, and it was proud and profoundly regretful, "I gave you a chance, Morgana." A rumbling sound made the entire area tremble, the beat of wings filling the air. The lady looked worried "What have you done?" she shouted over the din, holding onto the window sill to keep upright. Her question was answered by a commotion behind Merlin, as Aithusa burst through the brick wall, landing deftly behind him. She had grown now to the size of a fully grown Dragon; aged and mighty. Her scales shone brilliantly, eyes gleaming: Morgana's Dragon. But now, the old creature obeyed her master's command. Merlin spoke to her again, not once taking his eyes off Morgana, and the great Dragon breathed fire onto the chains biding him, its flames strong enough to break their spell. The Warlock was released as his chains fell to the ground at his feet. He rose, standing taller than before: Aithusa opened her wings behind him, giving him the image of an angel with wings. Morgana trembled, for it was a great and terrible sight to behold.

"I am Merlin" he said, walking towards her. "Son of Balinor, and I am the last Dragon Lord." His eyes were brimming with tears of bitter pride, "The druids call me Emrys, but I am more than that. It was said long ago that I would unite the lands of Albion alongside my King – and what a kingdom we built."

Smiling slightly, he stopped just in front of her, not fearful in any way. She could have fought back, but Morgana stood, frozen.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore" he said, and found it to be true. Holding back tears, he went on, "I'm never going to be afraid again."

"Emrys-" Morgana started, but he cut her off.

"I am, above all else, _Merlin_. I will fight for my friends, and for my King. I tried to save you-" he cut off, choked up. "But I am more than you think, and I will not stand by and let your evil poison this world again. I'll give you one more chance –come with me, Morgana. We don't need to fight anymore" he held out a hand for her to take, if she chose to. The lady stared at it for a minute; then met his eyes. "It's too late" she said, without anger, but sadness. She regretted that it had gone this far, but she needed her ending this time. He nodded.

"Then I am sorry. I will not let you hurt anyone; you will not harm my friends. Remember that I tried" Merlin spoke softly, if wistfully, "remember we used to be friends."

"I will"

Morgana didn't know what she was expected, but as Merlin turned away, walking to Aithusa and touching the beasts white nose affectionately, she was surprised. She had thought he would kill her. But he was too kind. Emrys – Merlin, mounted the creatures back, and with a final glance at her, took off into the sky on the back of his Dragon. The lady Morgana hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she released it. The she choked on it, even a few tears escaped upon her cheeks. Still shaking, she stood uncertainly, no longer needing to hold the window sill for support. She stood in light, reflecting on all that had been said.

She didn't hate Merlin. She had come to know that. She should hate him, but she didn't – they just fought different battles. The new one was just beginning.

Morgana knew where she stood with the boy now, and felt better about it. She still needed her ending, her victory, but things were not the same. _Why _did he have this effect in people? She had seen it before with Arthur, when Merlin was his voice of reason that couldn't be ignored. She had underestimated him: a mistake she would come to regret. Shaken but standing, Morgana swept her gaze across the room, resting finally on the chair and chains in the centre. Things were clear now; it was just the beginning. Setting her jaw and brushing away the tears, she left the room behind, not looking back.

* * *

A goodbye is a funny thing. They can be for the better or the worse; bittersweet or heart-wrenching; short or long things. They are usually complicated, and not always final. Sometimes, they're wrong. If the people saying goodbye had met at a different time, they might not be saying goodbye at all. Or they can be late: moving on is hard and leaving is difficult until you take the first step. Goodbyes can be under different circumstances; temporary or permanent. But whether it's a proud brother saying goodbye to his sibling at a new beginning, school or leaving home; or an old man saying a last goodbye to his beloved as she leaves this earth: goodbyes mean change. The two greatest figures of the old religion, Morgana the grey and Merlin the red, thought they had said goodbye that day. But they hadn't. (Not yet.)


	8. We grew up way too fast

We grew up way too fast

(Now there's nothing to believe)

The beach was cold, the weather taking a turn for the worse. Arthur Pendragon didn't feel any of it. Gwaine was lying on a rock, a makeshift bandage tied around his shoulder as Percival watched over him. Gwen, Elyan, and Leon stood talking in hushed tones nearby. Lancelot stood away from the rest, lines of worry carved deeply into his face. Arthur didn't care. He knew he should; that these were his men and he should be leading them, but he couldn't think straight. Merlin was gone – so Arthur was lost.

"Arthur" the voice called his name, but it was faint, with an echoed quality. His head snapped up, as did some of the others, but the King was the only one to move towards its source. The cave was glowing, a white light emitted from within. Smoke billowed from inside, and it was from this smoke a figure stepped. King Arthur now stood, flanked by his knights, who had all stood, ready to fight. They didn't need to; Arthur recognised the voice and its owner. "Freya" he breathed, walking briskly towards her. He knew she'd understand. "They took him, Freya. I'm sorry – I failed"

"No," she shook her head, taking his arm. "Merlin is alive"

"How do you know?"

"I can feel it" she reassured him, "I'd know if he were dead." Arthur believed her, for it had been her, in the Tor, watching over his friend all those years. She would know. But Freya looked paler, if it were possible, here.

"Who's this?" asked Elyan, as they all came forward to meet her. He sounded suspicious, and Arthur resented it: as if Elyan thought he could be unfaithful to Gwen. "I am Freya" the girl beat him to it, addressing the knights quickly, but she didn't know them, so did not care what they thought of her, "The guardian of Avalon and the only person who can get you away from this place, so there's no need to draw your sword" She primly reprimanded Elyan, who sheepishly obeyed the order.

"We can't leave" Arthur told her, desperation creeping into his voice "Merlin was taken from here – we need to find him"

Freya glanced back towards the cave from which she'd emerged. "This cave is enchanted; it will take you back to his cottage. He'll meet you there soon" she assured the King.

"How can you be sure?" he asked, quite unbelieving.

"This place – the cave" Freya told him, smiling softly, "It is called Merlin's cave. They remembered him, too. It will take you to wherever he will be"

"But not yet?" asked Lancelot, coming forwards. He, unlike the other knights, had trusted the girl instantly; she reciprocated the feeling, for he was softer than the others, more like Merlin. She could see why they were friends. "No, he will return tomorrow"

"Where is he now?" asked Arthur, dreading the answer.

"With Morgana. But she won't hurt him: his destiny is not to die today." Freya thought it would be a relief to Arthur, but instead he looked sickened. "Why does his entire life have to be decided by destiny?" he shouted angrily, "why can't he just be happy?"

The girl looked sympathetic for a second, "I told you that drinking the waters of the crystal cave would have its consequences."

He nodded bitterly, "I know."

She placed a hand on his arm, a comforting gesture from a friend: she understood. "I want him to be happy too. You'll save him yet, Arthur" he looked up hopefully at this, "come with me" she gently commanded. They all followed her into the mist, some more reluctantly than others. As the smoke surrounded them, the scene changed, and suddenly they were in Merlin's garden once more. Its grass and stone walls were familiar to the King only. Arthur, being the only one who knew the place, started forward purposely, but Freya's voice halted him again.

"Arthur" she beckoned, "I can't come with you now – I can never fully leave my post, and only for a short time then. Wait, as he did. He'll come back to you." With this the girl faded like smoke on the breeze. She missed his whispered thanks as she returned to Avalon.

Arthur faced his knights, a sense of purpose now driven into his bones. "This is our friend's home. I will ask that you're all respectful of this." This time, it was Arthur who remembered to close the creaking gate, with the saddest of smiles on his face. It reminded him: "and try not to step on the daffodils." He gave the order to his knights, who looked confused at the unusual request. It was Gwaine, who spoke first, asking the question on the tip of everyone's lips, "That girl – she and Merlin?" he trailed off, flushing quite embarrassedly. Arthur nodded certainly, "Yes, I think so." With this, he found the spare key from underneath the watering can, and let the troop inside Merlin's cottage.

* * *

Later, as the knights awkwardly inspected the cottage, curiously examining the light switches and taps as they did, Arthur was busy. He remembered his first night there, the breakfast him and Merlin had eaten together, but it was not of food he thought, but rather a piece of furniture. Determined to do something, he went in search of Merlin's kitchen table.

"Gather round!" Arthur ordered, as he rolled it into the living room. Dropping it to its feet again, he smiled at his work. Sure, this table was a lot smaller than they were used to, but it had what he needed: it was round. "Men - and my lady," he nodded awkwardly at Gwen, "I know what's happening is strange: this world, it is not ours anymore, but we must still fight to protect it." There was a general noise of agreement from the Knights, who had assembled around the table. "Now I know this table isn't what we're used to, but it will work. The Order of the round table still stands."

"Our Camelot as we know it may have fallen," he continued, "but I do believe this land can still be great. It is our duty, as the protectors of this place, to see off any evil that threatens it."

"But what are those creatures?" asked Percival.

"Some wretched beings of Morgana's creation, I'm sure. It is her we must fight," Arthur replied, "We beat her once before, we can do it again."

"But at what cost?" Leon asked desperately, placing a palm flat on the wooden table, "the last time we fought Morgana, we lost you, Sire. We fought for Camelot, our kingdom, then – what do we fight for now?"

"For Merlin," Gwaine said simply from behind them, startling them all. "This may not be our home anymore, but it's his still. He waited for us to come back all that time – what sort of friends would we be if we just gave up now? After all he's done-" Arthur cut him off with a raised hand.

"I agree with Gwaine," The King said, "we owe Merlin a great deal. If he waited for us, then it was for a reason – we are meant to fight this war. Its destiny" he said the last word bitterly.

"But is it worth it? Is he worth fighting for when he won't even save himself?" demanded Elyan, and such an angry statement from the retiring Knight was unexpected. "You saw him back there – he's not the same, Arthur. He may have been this great sorcerer before, but is he still that man?"

"He is our friend." Arthur snapped, more heatedly than he intended, but felt angry in his friend's defense, "if nothing else. Yes, as the best friend any of us are ever likely to know – he is worth it."

"Worth dying for?" The question hung in the air for a second, before a chorus rose to answer it.

"A thousand times" said Arthur.

"In a second" agreed Gwaine.

"Every time" supported Lancelot.

"I'll fight for Merlin" nodded Percival, "I saw him that night, after Arthur . . . well, after the battle. He deserves better friends than us, who doubt him."

"I agree" announced Gwen, "he's done more than any man"

"Or sorcerer" added Leon, with an affirmative nod.

"So, we fight for Merlin?" asked Elyan, greeted by solemn nods, "I will join you."

"For Merlin" everyone murmured in unison, before sharing a smile. They were together, with a plan, and something – someone – worth fighting for. The table reunited. "We are still here. You men here are the greatest Camelot ever knew, and I do not doubt that you will prove you valour once more." Arthur, a King again, stately honestly, meeting the eyes of all assembled. "I am glad to have you by my side in this final battle"

"We're glad to be here" Gwaine said, bringing a laugh.

"We have a war to prepare for," Arthur said, "Let's waste no time – we don't have much to spare."

So the Knights of Camelot, once more gathered around a round table of equals, began to prepare for the coming war: discussing strategies, reading the myth books for clues are to the foul creatures creation - the stone soldiers of days gone by coming back to life. King Arthur watched them from the corner of the room with a hidden half smile. To see his men, reunited and strong, was a sight to grace his eyes and bring him hope. Honestly, he had felt misplaced since his awakening, a king no more. Now seeing them fighting, his knights, the bravest of the Order of Camelot, he felt like a King again. He may not have a kingdom anymore, but that was not the maker of a King. A King was the one man looked to, the one they would follow to the gates of hell and back, and these men would do that and more for Arthur. He would be their King as long as his memory remained, in this world and the next: the once and future King. It wasn't having a kingdom that made him so, but the place he held in these beating hearts, and stories never forgotten. Feeling a King again gave him spirit; Arthur acted as he once had: as a leader of men. With this new drive, he set to work to find his friend and save Albion a final time.

Little did he know his greatest battle, where he would rise so high and fall so far, was yet to unfold, but was approaching them like a derailed train. The collision was imminent, and the fallout catastrophic to them all; it would decide the fate of earth.

* * *

The following morning, Arthur woke to rays of sunlight streaming through the open window in the kitchen. He had fallen asleep at the table, head against the desk. It was mid morning, so he woke the knights, who had slept in various places throughout the cottage: from the sofa, to the carpeted floors, even atop the kitchen counter in Gwaine's case. They had let Gwen take Merlin's bed, a sign of unforgotten chivalry in an age where it had lost its meaning. "No sign yet?" asked Lancelot, as he took a seat opposite Arthur on the table. The King shook his head sadly, setting his jaw. Merlin was not home yet. "Freya said he'd come home today, so he'll be here soon" he said determinedly, not allowing for any other solution. Merlin would come back to them soon. He had to.

"And we'll be ready when he does" agreed Lancelot in sympathy, nodding in what he hoped was a comforting way at his King. Lancelot had never seen the King look so tired.

The rest of the knights wandered in, rubbing their eyes, and collapsed into chairs or against cupboards. Gwaine didn't even bother getting up, just leaned up on one elbow from on top of the counter. They were all dressed bizarrely, as Arthur had dressed them up in spare clothes from the drawers around the house, so at the moment they were looking rather strange and less fierce than warriors should. Many were wearing t-shirts too big in hideous greens and purples, and jeans either too tight or too small: not exactly an army to incite fear into their enemies. The King supposed they'd have to go shopping again soon, a prospect he looked forward to immensely, for the first trip had been amazing – the centre of stores with huge signs and the red 'bus' that had taken them there, not to mention the 'city centre' filled with the funniest people and sights. Yes, they would have some fun when Merlin got back. _If he gets back . . . _said a voice in his head, but he silenced it. Negativity wouldn't help any of them.

"Right then," Arthur announced, standing to address them all, "obviously we can't go outside until we get our friend back, but we can do just as much from here. I trust you've all retrieved your swords from the rack in the back room?" he asked, and the knights nodded. They had all looked upon that little storeroom of Camelot's treasures with such a wonder, and such joy at getting their old weapons back, that any doubt about helping Merlin was driven from their minds completely. There was no question that they would help him now. "We know three things for certain: one – that Morgana is back. Two – that these creatures of hers make an army that greatly outnumber us," he paused, "three – we are going to stop them, or die trying."

"For Camelot!" called Leon, which was picked up with chanting and hands slapping the tables rowdily. Arthur laughed at their antics despite his worry, and shook his head like an exasperated father. "Calm down" he yelled, but laughed as he did. They were still laughing and noisily jumping around excitedly when there was a crash from the front of the house. Instantly silenced by the noise, the knights looked around at one another in confusion, unsure what to do. Arthur took the lead, moving quietly through to kitchen to the door. In the hallway, he could see that the front door had been blown inwards, torn from its hinges and lying on the ground, like it had been kicked down. Where the light shone through the gaping hole left behind stood a figure. He was silhouetted against the brightness, but a shadow, but Arthur could have recognized him anywhere. "Mordred"

A twisted smile, "Hello Arthur"

* * *

"Sorry about that," Mordred smiled, nodding at the shattered door, "but I figured just knocking wouldn't have the desired effect"

"And what's that?" asked Arthur.

Mordred paused, thinking intently, before speaking with an eerie calm. "I wanted to let you know that this isn't over. That I am back, and this time I'll see my work through"

"Your work?"

"Revenge – to kill you" Mordred was expressionless as he spoke, a cold detachment to his words and movements. Where there one was a fire to the druid boy, only a tiny spark remained burning, and even that was in danger of being extinguished by the wind. The fact that he didn't even seem to care was chilling. So Arthur asked the question that had died on his lips a thousand years ago: he hadn't understood then, and didn't now. "Why?"

Mordred looked outraged, a blinding fury twisting his once kind face into a grimace, "You don't even remember?" he demanded. "Do you even remember her name?" He paced forward, until he was spitting in the King's face with every word, eyes wide.

"The girl? . . . Kara?" Arthur asked, confused. Of course he remembered; he regretted what had happened, and losing a friend. But he'd given the girl many chances, what else did Mordred want from him? "You say her name like its _nothing_ – like _she_ was _nothing_! You killed her, Arthur, and I will not forget it" Mordred raged, building before abruptly turning and pacing away from them to steel himself. No, this time when he killed Arthur, he would be around to see it, and he would enjoy the revenge.

"I did not kill her," Arthur implored him earnestly; "she did that herself." Mordred sighed, laughing bitterly, but the King did not give him chance to retort. "She gave me no choice – I asked her to repent her crimes and she would not listen, she would rather die than admit her guilt. I tried-"

"Not hard enough!" roared Mordred, spinning round in anger once more.

"What did you expect me to do? I begged her to apologise, to repent her crimes so that she might stay in Camelot with you. She is the one who refused" Arthur protested.

Suddenly paling, Mordred looked as if he'd been punched; looking up at them slowly. "Wait, you gave her a second chance after the first one?" he asked, something of desperation in his tone.

"Yes," Arthur said, confused again, "when you were in the dungeons I called her to the council chambers before her execution and gave her another chance"

"When I was in the dungeons?" A nod. "You gave her another chance?" A second nod. "And she would even try living in Camelot? Not even . . . for me?"

"I'm sorry, Mordred" Arthur said honestly, for the boy looked pained beyond belief. "I thought you knew"

The druid shook his head, "I did not know" he paused, still looking lost, fighting some invisible demon crawling inside his chest. "I killed you because I was angry, but I didn't know. You tried. You actually tried and . . . I killed you." He looked up at the king, tears glazing tired eyes, "I'm so sorry, Arthur"

"I wish I could say it is easily forgiven, but you killed me; that is treason" the King said. The boy nodded, an immense sadness driving his movements, a guilt that could not be voiced.

"I know" Mordred said, "I will accept the punishment for that." Suddenly, he fell to his knees before the king, head bowed. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, waiting for the drawing of swords, for Arthur or one of his men to kill him – execute him for the crime he committed. But no such thing happened; after a minutes silence he looked up to the King, whose expression was a mixture of sadness and uncertainty. "What are you waiting for?" Mordred demanded, "Kill me!"

"Not today" Arthur said. He held out a hand and, to the surprise of the knights, helped his killer to his feet. Mordred was reasonably shocked, unsure whether this was some clever ploy or trap.

"Why?" the boy asked, eyes not leaving the King's. Arthur looked away, answering this to his trusted knights, not Mordred.

"This is not a day for further bloodshed. How can I tell him to move on if I don't too?" Arthur asked wisely. The knights seemed to understand some deeper meaning of this, but Mordred was mystified. Sensing he was on thin ice, he felt it best to hold back any questions for now. Aside from him, all the other men assembled knew Arthur meant Merlin. "True, but he did kill you Arthur. This is different" Gwaine advised.

"And who do you think it was worse for?" Arthur laughed, strangely. "It was over quickly for me: for him it has been eternities. It's no different"

"But he killed you, Sire" Leon protested, eyeing Mordred with deep suspicion.

"And what good will it do to kill him now? If I'm going to tell him that we need to move on, what sort of King, or friend, would I be if I made exceptions for myself?"

"I don't think he'd have a problem, to be honest" Gwaine said, speaking of Merlin. The Warlock, if he were here, would probably have killed the druid by now.

"I don't doubt it" Arthur laughed bitterly, "but that doesn't mean it's the right thing. We have to show him that there can be strength in moving on."

Gwaine sighed, "Fine. We let him live. _But _I still don't trust him as far as I can throw him."

"I'm not asking you to" Arthur said, and they were all agreed. They would practice what they preached, and move on. The knights shifted uncomfortably, not entirely happy with the decision, but no one spoke out against the Kings word.

"Mordred" The King spoke, causing the druid to look up in fear from where he stood, a little away from them. "It is my decision that you shall live. I release you: for the crimes you committed were grave indeed, but in these times we must forgive. I have to move on"

"You would forgive what I did?" Mordred could not fathom it out. He had killed Arthur, and he was just being let go? "Why?"

"For a friend who needs to see that forgiveness can be strength" The answer was given with a faraway look in the King's eyes.

Mordred's brow creased. "Emrys?"

The King nodded, "he has been . . . unwell." Mordred did not react, for he still felt a bubbling rage for the manservant. He may forgive the King, but Merlin – _Emrys, _was another matter. "Where is he?" Mordred finally asked.

"Morgana has taken him" The King answered wearily, head downcast. Mordred had no answer to that: if Morgana had him, Merlin was as good as dead. He should have known not to underestimate Merlin, a thought that would cost him dearly later.

"Thank you, Arthur. You have proved yourself to be a better man, a better King, than I could have imagined." Mordred stood and bowed. "But I cannot ally myself with you yet. I forgive, but there is someone I cannot forget"

"Morgana" guessed Arthur correctly.

Mordred nodded, "She was my friend, Arthur."

"I know," sighed the King, "she was once mine too."

The boy lingered for a moment longer, meeting the eyes of all the knights of Camelot, his former brothers in arms. In truth, he missed belonging somewhere. "I must make peace with her, but I think I will return, if you'll have me. I feel I have wronged you all, and that's something I have to repay" with this, Mordred swept from the cottage, leaving with a swirl of a cloak. Alone again, the knights breathed a collective sigh of relief at the druids departure, glad their King still stood. Moving back into the kitchen, they all took their seats on the table.

Arthur waited in the hallway, a wind now flowing through it from the open doorway. In Camelot, this might not have been strange, but here an open door would be an unusual sight. He moved to the doorway, seeing Mordred's retreating back as he travelled down the beaten road, quickly blocking the sight by hauling the door to an upright position to cover the hole left. It wouldn't hold against an army, but it would stand for now. As Arthur straightened the door, he sighed and spoke "Merlin won't thank you for that, you know."

"Maybe not yet" admitted Freya from behind him, where she'd appeared, ghostly and translucent as ever, "But he will. How did you know it was me?"

"Who else could have brought Mordred here? Who else would of?" Arthur retorted dryly.

She laughed softly, "You might not see it now, but you both needed to forgive him. You couldn't become what you need to if you didn't"

"And I suppose you were just helping 'destiny'?" he turned his back on her, towards the broken door again.

"I was helping you, not destiny" Freya said, never angry, "dollop head"

Arthur smiled, "You and Merlin must have been close if he told you that."

"We were," Allowed Freya, "so you have to start trusting me, Arthur. _It's never been more important_." Her voice had taken a chilling turn, the final phrase echoing in the King's head; sounding warning bells. "Why?" he turned to face her again, but she had vanished, only a thin trail of smoke to suggest she was ever there. His question never got answered.

"Arthur?" Lancelot was at the kitchen door suddenly, a distraction with a concerned face, "are you coming back?" Thoughts of Freya torn from his mind, but her final warning not quite forgotten, the King nodded distractedly. Rejoining the table of knights, he sat heavily, suddenly tired again. "Do you think we can trust him?" asked Leon, but the King didn't hear him, staring into the distance. Leon asked again, and this time the King seemed roused. "What?" Arthur asked.

"Do you think we can trust Mordred?"

"I don't know" Arthur honestly admitted, 'trust' between them may not ever be possible again. "But I think forgiving him was the right choice" he remembered Freya's words, "If Merlin will do the same."

"Well, I for one think you made a good decision, Arthur" Gwen soothed comfortingly, taking his hand from across the table, "It showed your quality. You forgave when you didn't have to – just look what effect it had on Mordred. It could have helped us gain an ally"

"An ally? One we can't even trust?" Elyan said incredulously.

"I think time will change that" Guinevere nodded knowingly. "Even if we didn't gain an ally, Arthur's right – we're showing Merlin forgiveness is possible"

"Merlin wasn't here to see it" Elyan reminded her.

"He will be soon" Gwen said, sure of herself. Arthur had remained silent up until this point, pouring over the events of the meeting in his mind; wondering if he'd made the right decision. He felt in his heart that he had, for before a wedge of tightness had been between his ribs, like a dull knife in his chest. It was guilt, or regret. But it had lifted now, and he breathed easier. He only hoped Merlin could find such relief too, eventually. He really did.

"Whatever happens will happen now. I've made my choice" he told them, King-like again. "But it is the past and we must not dwell on it, especially with such pressing matters in the present."

"Right. We were making plans; strategies for these creatures. We should keep going with that" suggested Lancelot, and Arthur nodded at his friend, glad of the change of subject.

"The storm is coming; we must be ready for it when it meets us" Arthur declared, and again the small kitchen became a hub of work. The knights of Camelot lead by King Arthur had once been the greatest army, the most destructive force, this earth had ever seen; they were back. Arthur still glanced at the clock every few minutes, waiting. He told himself it was silly, that Merlin would be home soon, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were incomplete without the Warlock.

* * *

Mordred walked steadily down the grey road, with no destination in mind in this bizarre world. He did not know these roads, or these cities, but he knew one thing in absolute clarity: he would always be able to find Morgana. Darkness finds darkness, and she would find him. He only hoped she hadn't killed Merlin by the time he got there: he wanted a few words with the great Emrys, none of them kind. But it was not to be: Merlin and Mordred would have a talk very soon, but Morgana would not be there. It also would not end the way Mordred wanted it to. But he didn't know that, not yet. For now he was walking a long road alone, trying to find the one person he had thought of as a friend in the end. _Morgana, I'm coming to find you. _


	9. Wherever you will go

Wherever you will go

* * *

_I missed this _Merlin thought as he sped across the speckled blue sky atop the Dragon, the wind ruffling his dishevelled hair about as he picked up speed. Aithusa, although having grown to her full size, had still not gained the ability to talk to humans, and all these years alone seemed to have left her damaged. In the time it took her to cover the distance, the sun had set above them, the cool night air a breath against his cheek. He worried about her, but knew that until things were sorted, there was nothing to be done. He just hoped the beast would hold out long enough to reach their intended destination. Softening, he patted her scaled back as she flew, to reassure he was there and wasn't leaving again.

Eventually, the view he longed for appeared on the horizon, stark and fierce looking against the gentle blue backdrop, and they touched down at its feet. Glastonbury Tor: what he needed right now – well, _who_ he needed, really. Merlin jogged to Aithusa's giant head, touching her nose briefly in an affectionate gesture before promising to return soon. Then, he was gone, racing towards the door in the stone. Uttering the incantation quickly, he half-fell through the gap produced in his haste to get to Freya. He needed her this time, and he could finally admit it. He needed help.

He sped down the stone corridor, never faltering or tripping. Coming out into the circular room, he found Freya waiting for him, small smile creasing her lips. "You're late" she scolded teasingly, eyes glimmering.

"You knew I was coming?" he asked.

"I always know you're coming." Merlin smiled at the words, crinkling his tired eyes. Freya would know what to do. "I know why you're here, Merlin" she said softly, beating him to it. "Do you?" she concluded, eyebrows aloft.

"I-" Suddenly, the words were scorched into the roof of his mouth, not able to pass through his dry throat. Why was it so hard to admit he was scared? He swallowed hard, reminding himself to breathe, then spat the words out in a quick concession. "There's something wrong with my magic, really wrong. I can't do this anymore, Freya. I need your help"

She smiled "You see, was that really too hard?" He made a face that this was serious, and she nodded quietly, moving over to him and pulling him across the room by the arm. Sitting them both down on a hard stone bench, she tried to catch his eyes, but he kept them trained to the ground. Merlin hated feeling so weak, and was ashamed that he couldn't control it anymore. He had always sworn that when Arthur came back, he'd protect him better this time, but in this state he was worthless.

"Look at me," Freya said softly, and he slowly raised his shaking gaze to meet her steady one. "You are not weak. You have been so brave, Merlin. But admitting there is something wrong, you've come a long way." He nodded. "But if you want your powers back, as strong as before . . . you have to do something I'm not sure you'll be able to"

"What? What should I do? I'll do anything to save them" Merlin said passionately, meaning it. Eyes blazing, he waited for the response. When it came, his fire was dampened.

"Let it go" Freya said, not unkindly, "You have to forget the past and move on. Forgive yourself"

"I can't" he shook his head, downcast, "how could I? I saw him die and the world change a hundred times since. I've seen wars and destruction and more death than any man. I lived through all of that and the things I have seen" Merlin broke off emotionally, looking away, "They'll haunt me always"

Moved by the truth of it, Freya instinctively moved forwards and covers his hand with her own, pale knuckles brushing his. "I'm not saying it will be easy, I'm saying it will be worth it" she told him.

"What if I can't?" he looked up and asked her, emotions aside, "what if I physically cannot just forget it?"

"Then don't forget it. Make it your reason to fight. But _forgive_ what's happened - you'll find strength in that surrender." He looked up at her: she saw the ghost of the man she once knew, but was only a distant memory now. Like the smell of old perfume that sticks in the air years after its wearer is gone, a trace of her Merlin still remained. "I don't know: I need time to think" he admitted, sounding guilty, "but then again, I think I've already had my share of time." He got up and uncertainly made to leave.

"Merlin," she called him back, "You're too hard on yourself. Try having a little faith for once" She crossed the room, kissing the stunned boy on the cheek, "_I_ believe in you." Merlin just stared at her for a second, like he was paralysed, then nodded once and left. Then, he was vanished once more; Freya was alone.

* * *

Away from that place, in a deserted attic with the windows boarded up again, Morgana paced furiously. Why did that boy have this effect on everyone? She wanted him dead, all of them dead, but there was something so broken in him it wasn't even worth the fight. Cursing fate for denying her an opportunity for victory, she sighed angrily and slumped into a chair in the corner on the room. _What now? _She thought. If there was no fight left, what had she been brought back for? Silence answered her, despair beginning to sink in. Apart from the brutish creatures she brought to life, she was utterly alone and abandoned. It was no life. There wasn't even anyone left worth killing or getting revenge on. It seemed like there was no point to it all, when there was a knock at the door.

"Morgana?" the name sounded like a prayer, something sacred, as an awed Mordred saw her for the first time in centuries. She whirled round at the sound of his name, dark hair askew, and her face broke out into a shocked smile, half-believing. "Mordred" she breathed, running across the small space to embrace her old friend; her family. "I can't believe it's you" she whispered, unsure whether this was all a cruel dream.

"Nor can I" the druid boy said, leaning back to look at her. He smiled and she did too in return, then his face turned sombre. "I never got to say thank you"

"For what?"

"For what you did after the battle" Mordred spoke as quietly as always, "You took care of my body and treated it with respect - even after I failed you"

"You never failed me" Morgana said, head tilted upward in absolute confidence.

"We lost the war" he said mournfully, "we were not free"

"We lost a battle. But we did not lose all – Arthur died." She reassured him, not even certain herself if that was a good thing anymore. Then, irritatingly, it was Merlin who again sprang to mind. "And it might not have been us, but magic was free after that"

"But you said Arthur-"

She shook her head. "Not Arthur – Merlin." Mordred fell silent, brow furrowed.

"What are we doing back, Morgana?" he eventually asked, eyes prepared for the worst. He was the boy soldier of the war for magic, still waiting for orders even now.

"I don't know – I thought it was for revenge at first – but now I'm not so sure" she truthfully admitted.

"Merlin?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He knew the look on her face all too well.

"He has an irritating habit of getting inside your head, doesn't he?" Morgana sighed, shaking her troubled head. "I just don't know anymore" she got more violent as she thought about it, eventually tipping the chair over in frustration. "Why can't it be like it used to be?" she demanded.

"Things change" the boy reminded her. _People do. _

"Why do they have to?" she said sadly, "Things were so simple before. We had a purpose, an enemy, and we fought it. What is there for us now?"

"Redemption" Mordred answered simple, looking up with sudden clarity. "That's why I came to see you first"

Morgana met his gaze, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't fight anymore. This war, this hatred – I can no longer be a part of it. Arthur told me the truth about Kara – did you know he offered her a life in Camelot, with me, and she turned it down?"

"She was loyal to our cause" she ex-queen defended, the hurt in her eyes growing bigger.

"But that's the thing: in the end, I had stopped caring. I was happy to be a knight and try to make a difference – it was her I fought for in the end"

"And?"

"I thought Arthur killed her from spite, but I was wrong. He tried, my lady – and I killed him. I regret that."

"So you're saying what? That you're going running back to Arthur because _he tried_?" Morgana spat at him, moving forward to challenge him. "Have you forgotten all he's done – all he killed before that-" She broke off. "Oh," she breathed.

"What?" Mordred asked hesitantly, for the unhinged expression he had become accustomed to had just clicked back onto Morgana's face.

"Thank you Mordred," she said. "I'd forgotten, but you've made it very simple for me again."

"That was not my intention; I came to ask you for peace-"

"-then take you're peace and leave!" she screamed, the betrayal evident upon her face. "Betray me like everyone else has. But Arthur must die" she said very calmly, for things had fallen back together, like the pieces of a never ended puzzle.

"Morgana please, it doesn't have to end this way" he pleaded desperately.

"I said leave" the dark queen spoke coldly, an absence of emotion clear. "Before I change my mind about letting you live."

Mordred stood a second longer, pained. He wanted to fight on the right side this time – he had to make amends – even if it meant standing against his only family. "I'm so sorry" he breathed quietly. He turned on heel and walked away from someone he thought he ever would, heart heavily with the weight of a thousand burdens. Morgana, betrayed and broken and breathing although it was difficult to draw breath, was left standing in the dark: friendless; a grey statue in the dawn.

* * *

The sound of beating wings woke the King. Arthur's eyes snapped open, one word and one word only on his lips, "Merlin." His dash to the door woke the rest, and a group of sleep-deprived knights spilled out into the garden just as a huge white dragon landed on the grass. A figure jumped down from the side of it, walking under the wing before coming into view. "_Mer_lin" Arthur said again, as did some of the others. It was more an instinct than a thought of movement that sent Arthur forwards until he reached his friend and wrapped him in a tight hug. The Warlock seemed surprised at the affection, his skinny frame stiffening, and then relaxing as he hugged his friend back. "I'm fine" the boy reassured him, stepping back just as Arthur punched him in the face.

"Ow" Merlin complained from the floor, rubbing his jaw, "What was that for?"

"Where have you been?" Arthur demanded, face red with rage. He hated that he cared so much and got so scared when Merlin was in danger. "What happened?"

"Perhaps that can wait for when we're inside" Gwen phrased it as a question, but from the look she sent him, Arthur knew not to cross a line. He nodded, back arching with frustration as he upturned his nose them marched back into the house. Gwaine offered Merlin a hand up, which the Warlock willingly accepted. "Now _that's _a way to travel" the young knight commented, nodding at the mighty dragon, noblest of all creatures.

"This is Aithusa" Merlin told him, relieved of the subject change. The rest of the knights had stayed awkwardly on the lawn, unsure what to do, but looked interested at that.

"It has a name?" Leon asked, walking forward to study the creature in fascination.

"Of course it does" Merlin answered, "I named her."

"_You_ named her" they looked impressed and disbelieving.

"I _am_ a Dragon Lord, you know" Merlin rolled his eyes, slightly grinning. He turned back to Aithusa and touched her nose, between her eyes, very softly. Her eyes were now huge and the bluest blue imaginable, so he spoke directly into them in her own language; the others watched on, unknowing of what he was saying in the strange tongue. Afterwards, the Dragon gathered her legs beneath her before launching herself into the air, heading north.

"Where is she going?" asked Gwen, kindly. The creature was beautiful, she thought. Dangerous and beautiful.

"I sent her to a friend– she'll know what to do" he replied, a faraway look on his face.

"Oh right, we met your 'friend' Freya" Gwen said, eyebrows questioningly rose as his head snapped towards her, and he blushed.

"Come on, Arthur will be waiting and you know how impatient he gets" Merlin said, embarrassedly walking away hastily; tripping over his own boots in the process. Upon hearing this, the knights giggled to themselves and exchanged looks with Gwen. "Shut up!" the young warlock yelled over his shoulder.

* * *

"So you're telling me that if you want your powers back, you have to _forgive _everything?" Arthur checked he had heard right as Merlin finished his story. "That's a bit girly, isn't it?"

"Tell me about it" Merlin muttered darkly, taking a swig of the drink he'd poured himself as they'd sat down. The whiskey burned his throat, and he relished it. Maybe he could 'forget' as Freya said, if he consumed enough of the amber liquid. Then again, he thought, there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to forget all of that. He sighed. "I'm sorry"

"For what?" Arthur asked, genuinely confused.

"I wish I could just _do _whatever I'm meant to do. I want to save you all, really I do. I just don't know how."

"That's nothing to be sorry for" the King told him honestly. The two men sat in the corner of Merlin's cottage, on armchairs by the fireplace. The knights were out on various tasks, leaving them time to 'talk'. "Perhaps you'd better worry about helping yourself before you even think about saving us"

Merlin rubbed his eyes, bleary in the afternoon light. "Maybe," he answered, "I just wish there was-"

"-an easy fix? Don't we all" Arthur laughed. "I'm sorry too, for all that I said on the beach."

Merlin waved the apology off "You don't have to be - you were right"

"But I shouldn't have said it that way, you deserve better" Merlin scoffed at this. "_You do_" Arthur said.

"You don't know everything, my lord" Merlin said, that same darkness creeping into his gaze, "the things I've done – no, I don't deserve better." The King made to protest, but Merlin raised his hand for silence. "But," the warlock continued, "I can made up for my past by saving you now – _if only I knew how to fix my magic_" The sorcerer slammed his fist angrily against the table between them, spilling their drinks. He put his head in his hands, a sign of pure hopelessness.

Arthur was astounded, for he had never seen such aggression from his friend. Merlin was always the kind one, the gentle one – the whimp, if he were honest. Perhaps Arthur did not know him so well after all. But he thinks that he knew him at his best, and that Merlin was still the greatest man he had ever had the privilege to know. Not that he'd ever tell him that.

"You're my friend" the King started, "and if I can help you, then I will. God knows it's my turn to save you for a change. If its forgiveness you need, do you want to uh, talk about your feelings?" Arthur was clearly uncomfortable with the subject, squirming and pulling a face even as he asked. He heard Merlin snicker, and finally the boy lifted his head. "No thanks Arthur," he laughed. They sat in silence for a while, so the King could not help but notice the change in his friend. There were lined carved deeply into Merlin's face where there hadn't been before, and those eyes of his, always so strikingly alive, looked heavy.

"Time has not been kind to you, my friend" Arthur commented with a thoughtful expression.

"Is it to anyone?" Merlin asked, surprised at the unusually deep remark.

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see."

* * *

The door did not blow in this time when Mordred came to call. He knocked, and Lancelot let him pass, watching him with suspicion. They entered the living room, where Arthur stood with his knights around the table, making plans. All eyes met his when he walked in, and Mordred felt exposed but stood his ground. He spoke certainly, determinedly. "I have come to ask to serve you, my lord. What I did was unforgivable, I know that. But I hope to find some relief in my troubled soul by repaying you with my service." A silence thick enough to form a fog filled the room, making it seem too small and stuffy. Everyone waited for Arthur's response, but before he could give it, Merlin entered the room. He had been sleeping, so looked confused; carrying a mug of strong black coffee in one hand. Upon seeing the unexpected guest, he dropped the cup, sending it smashing on the floor "Mordred."

"Merlin" The druid's jaw tightened at the same, but it was the more powerful old warlock who seemed the most affected. Merlin's face drained of colour, the coffee scorching his feet not even felt: he looked as if he had seen a ghost. Which quite frankly, he had - the spectre that taunted his dreams, stabbing Arthur over and over again in Merlin's nightmares. Standing right there. He struggled with himself for a moment, which Arthur clearly noticed for he suggested, "Perhaps you'd better wait outside, Merlin."

"Perhaps I'd better not" Merlin didn't even take his eyes of Mordred, unsure whether to flee or kill the boy where he stood. For now, he stood frozen between both.

"_Mer_lin" Arthur said emotively, and the Warlock paused enough to look up into his friends open face. The King pleaded with his eyes for Merlin to understand – killing Mordred would solve nothing, and it certainly wouldn't help with the whole 'moving on' business.

The Warlock tried; really he did, to understand. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. But inevitably, a thousand years of pent up rage won out; too much time had caused too much pain to just 'let it go'. Before anyone could react, Mordred was sent flying through the window by a twitch of Merlin's finger. It seemed rage too was a good motivator for magic, but it would not last. The Warlock stormed through the door in pursuit of the Druid boy, who lay bloody on the grass. He looked up as Merlin approached only to find himself looking into piercing blue of eyes of only hate and spite and a burning fury. None of the compassion remained, it was gone. And Mordred, perhaps for the first time, was truly terrified of Merlin.

"Please" the young boy begged, blood leaking from the edge of his mouth, but his pleas were cut short by a shockingly good punch from Merlin. He hit him again, and again, and again, and again, until Mordred's blood coated his hands. With each blow, Mordred sank further from consciousness, beaten down and dying. And throughout it all, Merlin did not care. He could see Mordred was in pain, could feel his bones snapping and crunching, knowing he was the one causing it, but he just didn't care. He should have felt something – anything – but he just felt empty. He wasn't even angry. But after a thousand years torture, he was a empty shell.

It was after the fourth or fifth blow that the knights caught up to find him beating Mordred to a bloody pulp. They were horrified: Gwen even screamed. None had ever seen him like this. Being the King, and Merlin's closest friend, it was Arthur who approached and grabbed the assaulters arm as it was raised to take yet another blow. Merlin looked up at him sharply as Arthur grabbed him. "Let me go" The old sorcerer said, devoid of emotion. Even Arthur, who had thought it would never happen, was afraid of his friend. Still, he had to save him. Not Mordred – Merlin. If he let Merlin do this, there was no going back.

"No," Arthur said "Stop this now."

"I can't" breathed Merlin, shaking off the king and raising his fist again, cracked with the other man's blood. Arthur moved forwards, shoving Merlin back; placing himself between the Warlock and the Druid. Merlin looked enraged. "Move out of my way" he said very slowly.

"I can't do that, Merlin"

"I'm not asking" he said; voice cracking as he shook his head slightly.

"Then you'll have to go through me, because I won't let you do this" Arthur challenged. Merlin was his brother; he would not let him destroy himself. Surely his oldest friend would see sense? Arthur knew Merlin was not a bad man, or a violent one. But he was a damaged one. But causing more grief does not repair, it reopens old wounds.

Merlin choked, tears in his eyes glistening as he shook physically, "He killed you"

"I know" the King allowed.

"All this suffering, all these years – it's all because of him!" Merlin practically screamed, throat hoarse. All the rage and fear and anger buried deep inside for so long bubbled just beneath the surface now. All the memories clear as day.

"That's not true" Arthur pleaded, no longer afraid. "Everything that's happened to you, and I am truly sorry for what's happened to you: it is the result of circumstance; destiny; the world's cruel joke – no one man"

Merlin's shoulders dropped, face wrenched as an overwhelming grief settled onto his features. Even before he had used magic to be young again, when he had met an old man at Avalon that first day, Arthur had never seen his friend look so old than at that moment. The years, and there had been so many, weighed upon his face all at once; it must have been unbearable for one man to carry so much. The Warlock looked up, shattered in spirit, talking honestly for the first time since Arthur had returned. "A thousand years, Arthur"

"I know"

"No," Merlin said bitterly, "You don't. I have lived too long. Saw too much that I can _never _forget. And at the end of the day, when everything around me burned and only ashes remained, what was left? Me. _Alone. _For all of that time." Merlin took a few steps forward, but Arthur stood his ground. "People keep telling me to 'let it go' and 'forgive' but how could they understand?" He grabbed the front of Arthur's collar, shouting it into his face, exploding. The King wasn't scared at all; he was just devastated to see his friend that way; to feel so helpless to make it better. "_He_ started all of this," Merlin pointed at Mordred, who knelt on the ground, face deformed, bleeding profusely. "It all came after that, after he killed you - after I held you as you died and knew I had failed."

"You didn't fail"

"Don't" Merlin spat, like a drunk but with grief as his intoxication. "It all began with him, and _you, you're telling me to let him go?!_ Do you know what it is like to see everyone you love die? Because when you live a hundred lifetimes, that's all living becomes – waiting for those dearest to leave you alone, without hope, over and over again." Even Arthur felt a tear escape down his face at this, the pure loss in his friend's eyes too much to take. To live that life would be a nightmare.

"Please Merlin, don't just hear me – listen. Mordred, he might have made the cut, but it was time, and fate, that killed me. He is just a man. We all are. But you're more than that – you have saved us, _saved me_, so many times. Merlin, I'm begging you, let me save you this one time."

The Warlock let tears steadily drench his face, as Arthur clung to his sleeves to hold him up. "I've lost so much" Merlin breathed, holding on like his life depended on it.

"Look at him" Arthur said, nodding to Mordred. His friend complied, and to his horror saw not the monster parents warn their children of, but a man, nothing more. Merlin's mouth fell open, "what have I done?"

"Acted like a human" Arthur reassured him, knowing in his heart Merlin was not evil or even cruel. "He's just a man, but so are you. Merlin," the King shook him, so their eyes met, "Be better than this. Be the man I know you are: it is time to stop fighting." The Warlock, still the greatest, sank to his knees, and his King fell alongside him. He struggled, inner demons possessing his every urge to just finish Mordred off. But instead, he took a deep breath; it was done.

Merlin reached out a hand to Mordred, who flinched in freight. Touch a hand to his forehead, the Warlocks eyes glowed, and the Druid was healed. The only evidence that he was ever injured was the dried blood staining Merlin's hands. Mordred looked up; his young innocent face so childlike. "Thank you" he whispered. With a look from the King, he got to his feet, walking to the edge where the knights watched on. Merlin remained still on the ground, eyes closed, focused on breathing. On letting go with every breath. Lifetimes flashed before his eyes, burnt onto his eyelids, then he breathed out; they floated away. Remembering hurt, but it was a good kind, the kind that means a change. As he breathed his last, he whispered a spell quietly, and from the spot from where Arthur watched, concerned, a bright light shone out. Brighter than anything he'd ever produced before, the Warlock slowly rose. It was the legendary moment; he had never risen so high. The King retreated a few steps. Merlin stood, eyes closed as light surrounded him, winding from his hands around his body.

Maybe that light was his soul.

Maybe it was just a spell.

I guess the truth will never be truly known.

But as Merlin's eyes opened, such a light shone out as this world has never known. Golden and burning fiercely and beautiful. Strength surged in the bones of all present, like the witnessing of a miracle, it gave them new life. The rebirth of Emrys, of Merlin, was complete. He forgave, after a long time, he finally forgave. And he found the strength he needed in that, as he was promised he would. The fire faded from his eyes, changing back to their usual storm coloured hue. He was back to his full power. He would save them.

Merlin was back.


	10. Until the end of days

Before:because of time complications, the last few chapters of this fic have been scrapped, but what would have happened is a final battle on the site where Camelot once stood, in which Morgana dies, comes back through a crack in the world more powerful than before, then after Arthur casts away his sword and refuses to fight, she stabs herself and fades again. Then, after the battle, the knights slowly start fading, one by one, until only Gwaine, Merlin and Arthur remain: the trio. This story is ending here.

* * *

'Until the end of days'

The second time Merlin and Sir Gwaine parted, both of them knew it was goodbye. But being the way they were, it was not sad. They were friends foremost and friends until the end; that's how they left it. "Merlin," Gwaine called the Warlock over to where he stood, atop a rock on the battlefield. The effects of the battle could be seen in his ashy hair and dirty armour, but his smile still shone. "I forgot to ask, I've been meaning to all this time – Did you ever find what you were looking for?" The warlock's breath caught in his throat, as he remembered all those years ago outside the crystal cave, the first time they had said goodbye. "Yes," Merlin nodded honestly, sincerely, as he beamed at Gwaine "that and so much more." The knight had smiled back, pleased for him as they shook hands, as he faded in front of Merlin's eyes, that smile lingering a second longer than the rest, before Sir Gwaine vanished. That was their second goodbye, and their last.

* * *

Finally, only King Arthur and his loyal Merlin remained. They kept walking, until they reached the destination neither intended, yet where they would always end up. They stood at Avalon, now a lake once more, changed for now for this very moment. The waters were still the bluest blue, sparkling in the afternoon sun setting on the horizon. The final day for Arthur in this world; as the sun set on Camelot's last day. The King, fully in armour, walked towards the water's edge, for what needed to be done seemed obvious now. It was always going to end this way: the King returned to Avalon once more.

"So that's it?" Merlin shouted behind him, causing Arthur to turn and face his friend's distraught face, torn up in emotion, "You just leave like that, and I'm left here again?" Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin wasn't done. "Like this was nothing? I can't stay here, Arthur. I can't be that alone again," he shook his head, begging now. "This world is not my home. This last week with you, I've been more alive in these few days than I have been in hundreds of years. I can't lose everything again – _I can't_"

The King shook his head, eyes softening as he understood his friend perfectly. For a long time, the King's vision of the sorcerer was cracked, but now he saw him as he was. "You can come with me this time" he told his friend.

"I can come with you?" Merlin echoed, shock set into his features as he dared to believe it was true. Arthur nodded, "If you chose to. It means dying, leaving behind this world – your house," he smiled as he continued, "the daffodils, the bike. But if that is your choice: you can come with me this time." Merlin's mouth fell open, unsure what to feel. It was obvious, wasn't it?

"Of course I'll come with you" he answered after snapping out of the joyful daze, walking forward purposely to meet Arthur on the shore's edge. The King looked baffled. "You do understands what this means, don't you Merlin? _You'll die_." Arthur asked incredulously, the tone his friend smiled at from years ago, the one he'd missed dearly.

"I am going to die" Merlin said, and Arthur remembered the scene from his vision unfolding before his eyes, as the final puzzle piece slipped into place, "If I stay here. If I stayed - that would be dying: I'd be like I was before, not myself anymore. Coming with you now, I may die physically, but it's not dying – not really. It would be setting me free." Arthur looked at Merlin so strangely then, but the gaze was lost on Merlin, who stared out towards Avalon. "There's something about you, Merlin" the King echoed his first words to Merlin, a thousand years ago in Camelot, ending it differently this time, "I don't think I'll ever understand it."

"That would be no fun" the boy grinned, finally glancing over to his King. The breeze picked up, ruffling their hair, setting the scene into motion. Above, the sun shone fiercely even as it fell in the sky, lighting it up. It was as if the world was glowing in all its infinite glory to pay its respects to its two greatest heroes as they departed for the last time.

"Ready?" Arthur asked, with a sideways glance at Merlin.

Merlin nodded, sunlight catching in his eyes as he looked back. "If we're going, at least it's together."

They started walking. The Water quickly covered their boots as they marched into the tide, side by side. A low mist formed in the hazy light, obscuring the view; removing signs of the modern day. Only the Tor, silent and resolute, could be seen in the distance, and Merlin sorrowfully thought of Freya alone in there. _I'm sorry. _He thought of her face, so sweet and honest. _I'm so sorry. _Somehow, he knew she heard him and she understood. She would want him to be happy.

Ahead, Merlin noticed something in the swirling mists, a movement; a picture forming in it. It twisted and snaked, growing upwards until it became clear. It was Camelot, as it had once stood in its golden age. It looked so familiar, and yet it was as Merlin had never seen it: in a time when magic was free. "W-what?" the question was half formed as he turned, bewildered, to Arthur, who was smiling at him knowingly. They had paused, but now the King continued to walk calmly as he explained.

"What you did today, Merlin, it didn't just save the world now. It protected it forever. That world, as it is, is under the protection of magic from this day on. There will be no more war or conflict; there is no great evil left. Now, this is Albion." The King pointed to the castle in the mists, as Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur held up a finger sagely, so the warlock fell into silence so he could continue. "'Albion' means peace. This Kingdom, which you gave everything for but never got to live in, is your peace. We can live here for eternity – it's yours, you made it all that it is. _This is your peace_." Merlin, who had half formed tears in his eyes as he looked upon that kingdom of light with the same awe which he once gazed upon Camelot, the first time he had entered it over a thousand years ago, replied softly "Ours."

"Well yes, technically I'm still the King of course - you'd be a terrible King," Arthur laughed, and Merlin joined in begrudgingly, "But you're the court Sorcerer."

"I'd love nothing more" the boy grinned, joy, pure uncontainable bursting joy, filling every inch of his body. Albion, the promised land of peace – It was unbelievable. The most beautiful sight he could imagine. And an eternity with his friends to live in it? Every one of Merlin's dreams could not have matched the level of perfection this was, nothing could make him happier.

Still walking into the lake, which was now lapping around their waists, they could not feel its icy bite. They had one foot in this world, one in the next. As the King and Warlock walked through the waves, which would eventually take them, they were also walking towards the light in the mist. To their new home. Arthur spoke, "It's not the other world, as such – this one was created entirely for you. There's nothing to fight here, nothing to be scared of, or for."

"-no destiny?" interrupted Merlin, paling with the realisation.

"No destiny." Arthur smiled kindly, knowing what this meant to Merlin. Freedom. To be free from his life being shaped by powers above his control, to be free to chose his own path. "From now on, this story is ours to decide."

"But they'll never stop telling them" Merlin wryly smiled, glancing over his shoulder to the mortal world, now in the distance, "they'll never forget it as long as this earth turns. It will be as much a part of the land as the trees or the sky"

"It's not over yet, either" Arthur said evenly, finally holding out a gloved hand to Merlin as their heads and shoulders were about to go underneath the waves. "The next chapter is our own to write, in Albion, if you'll still come with me."

Merlin's face, so wonderstruck, broke into a smile. "Of course I'm coming with you, you clot pole. Camelot is my home." Figures, whose armour glinted in the sunlight as they waited with looks of kindness, ready for new adventures, appeared in the fog in front of them, growing into faces he recognised so well. The knights of Camelot stood there, and Gwen. Gaius smiled from beside Balinor, and Kilgarrah glided overhead. His friends in all their glory - and how great they were.

It hadn't been goodbye after all. Now they would never have to part again.

"They're waiting" Arthur said, never taking his eyes off his oldest friend. Merlin smiled back.

"Let's go home." He took Arthur's outstretched hand, a friendly gesture, one of comfort and love. The two men, brothers in soul, walked under the blue waterline, as the darkness swallowed them up. Neither was afraid, for they were together, and could take on the world. Afterwards, neither would remember dying, but a blinding light later and they were home.

They left together, and stayed that way for numberless days, until the last leaf had fallen from the last tree: Camelot thrived, they lived and laughed; and even then, the stories of the legends remained, always. For all Merlin lost, he loved as deeply, and lived as happily. He waited, and was rewarded with this world of hope, where he could live out all he had dreamt of. His friends waited for him, they never left him again; never again did the old warlock feel alone. Arthur ruled over this Camelot for many years, ageless, as it grew when people found peace.

The mortal world stood tall too. When Merlin died, he rejoined the earth, and his magic protected it – the grass grew greener, the waters cleaner, everything was in light. He was protecting the kingdom even in death, and always would. And that world – they remembered him. As long as there was man, there were stories: Merlin's legend was never forgotten, it lived forever in words. Emrys was immortal through stories, but he was more alive in death, and finding Albion, as he ever was walking the earth.

The people of Camelot lived in Albion for an eternity: in wonder, happiness, peace. Magic never left the eyes in which it had found grace, and hope remained until the end of days.


End file.
